


Kitten

by BananaStickers



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Caretaking, Cock Cages, Collars, Dirty Talk, Gentle BDSM, Getting Together, M/M, Mutual Pining, POV Alternating, Praise Kink, Service Submission, Shibari, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2020-09-19 04:31:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 43
Words: 95,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20325142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BananaStickers/pseuds/BananaStickers
Summary: It was just supposed to be a summer fling.  An admittedly strange summer fling, because most casual hookups don’t come with ropes and gags and pet names.  But still just a summer fling, because Kris Letang isn’t the kind of guy that wants a relationship.At least...hewasn’tthat kind of guy.  Now he’s not so sure.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Wasn't Ready At All](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14535096) by [BananaStickers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BananaStickers/pseuds/BananaStickers). 

> Because there's not enough BDSM-themed slow burns out there...please enjoy. This fic is pretty much finished. With expected rewrites it looks like it'll be around 100k.
> 
> This is technically a sequel to the Tom Wilson / Brian Dumoulin fic I wrote awhile back (linked above). It's not necessary to read it, although its events set this fic into motion. This fic is set after the 17-18 Pens playoff loss to the Caps.
> 
> BDSM has the principals of _safe, sane, and consensual._ And while I'd consider everything in this fic to be sane and consensual, especially in the beginning these two idiots will bumblefuck their way through some pretty bad BDSM etiquette which will correct itself over the course of the fic as they become more comfortable with themselves and each other.
> 
> I'm throwing out all conventional wisdom which says fics should have a consistent chapter length and doing something different with this one. Each chapter will be alternating POV, which means some chapters might be 1k...and some may be 10k. However, if it's an especially short chapter (under 2k), I'll post 2+ chapters at the same time.
> 
> Finally, some visuals:  
[Kris Letang](https://i.imgur.com/lQMoeAo.jpg)  
[Brian Dumoulin](https://i.imgur.com/xxaCXWu.jpg)

“Not quite a Cup party, huh? You’re falling asleep.”

The question jolts Brian out of his doze; shit, he _was_ falling asleep. He makes an unhappy noise and tries to hide his face in the warm skin of Conor Sheary’s shoulder. They’re draped together on one of Sid’s big lawn chairs, and both of them are just in their swim trunks, although neither have quite made it to the pool yet. “I’m drunk,” Brian protests. “Lemme sleep. You’re comfy.”

“And you’re fucking _heavy,”_ Conor grumps, wiggling out from under him. “There’s a size difference here y’know. Also that’s bullshit, if this was a Cup year you’d still have at least a six-pack left to go. I know. I _saw_ you, Dumo. I was there.”

“Yeah well, it’s not a Cup year, is it?” Brian grumbles, but sits up with a yawn and a stretch. It’s certainly different this year; Cup wins are all that he and Shears know of the NHL. Brought up together in ‘16, won it all, won it again in ‘17, and now…

Knocked out. By the fucking _Washington Capitals_. But it’s even worse than that for Brian, because - well, he doesn’t really want to think about it, but he can’t get it out of his head. Tom Wilson’s smarmy grin, his hand tangled in Brian’s hair while Brian sucked his dick, every one of Tom’s murmured praises going straight down his spine to pool in his belly. With a rope or two and a couple sweet words, Brian was so easy for it; if Tom wanted it, he got it. He let Tom fuck his mouth and then his ass and then he almost cried, and certainly begged, just to be able to come. Tom came on his _face_ with that same obnoxious smirk.

And then his team ended Brian’s season.

It’s shameful, is what it is. What if any of them found out? How could he look someone like Sid in the eye if he knew that Brian was on his knees barely a week ago for Tom fucking Wilson?

“I gotta go get _laid,”_ Conor says. “Jordan gave me a hall pass tonight. You think Knuckles will let me fuck him?”

“Doesn’t he keep telling you no? By all means, go ask again. Get rejected, make me feel better about my life.”

Conor snorts and shoves at Brian’s shoulder, rolling off the lawn chair. “I don’t know why we’re best friends, you’re a dick. Speaking of dick, I’m gonna go _get that_ German dick,” he declares, and Brian chuckles as he watches Conor beeline over to the fire where Kuhnhackl is sitting.

Getting laid just makes him think about Wilson, and he should probably just go fuck somebody and put that out of his mind and in the past. Brian doesn’t have a significant other, so no need for a hall pass, but he’s never been a big fan of fucking teammates, because it’s always been a disaster. There was that time in college when he had a brief fling with Cam Atkinson and then it got _awkward_ and things were never the same, and they’re still not, they just say a small hello in warm ups when the Jackets play the Pens. Granted, the sex with Trevor Daley right after the second Cup win was pretty amazing, but then Dales signed with the Red Wings less than a month later and didn’t text him all summer and Brian was stupidly hurt and forced to admit that he had feelings where Trev didn’t. That was fun.

Besides, he doesn’t really want sex. Well, not _just_ sex. He wants someone to hold him down, tell him he’s good, wants to let go of control and not think. God help him, he wants what Tom Wilson did to him. That’s not really a thing hook-ups do (and it should never have been a thing that _opposing players_ did). Sometimes, though...he still remembers Dales pinning him against Sid’s guest bed - sorry, Sid - his big hands around Brian’s wrists, saying how amazing he’d been during their Cup run while he fucked Brian deep and slow. Brian had cried because he was overwhelmed, and Dales had pretended not to notice, and then he left _forever_ so yeah, his tastes are pretty fucked up, he thinks. Who wants a sappy and emotional sub that doesn’t even like pain? So, normal sex it is. Maybe he could go hit up a bar - 

“This seat taken?” comes the soft question, and Brian blinks up slowly at the guy looming over him.

“Jamie,” he greets with a smile, then scoots over. “All yours, man.”

Jamie Oleksiak lets out a whoosh of breath as he slumps down next to Brian, the chair creaking and protesting with the weight of both men. It’s a two-seater lounge, but somehow Brian figures the manufacturers weren’t prepared for two large professional athletes to occupy it at the same time. “You swimming?” Jamie asks.

“I was thinking about it. Why?”

“I mean, you’re wearing your trunks,” Jamie smirks, and he trails his eyes up Brian’s bare torso and - Brian might be drunk, but he can recognize a look of interest when he sees one. Hockey players aren’t exactly subtle, but Big Rig even less so.

Jamie could be interesting. Brian’s pretty damn sure he has no latent or secret feelings for Jamie, and if anyone can hold him down and make him feel like he’s got no control, it’s him. He’s a big boy. This could be just the thing he needs. “Yeah. I was gonna swim, but I keep getting _distracted.”_

“Distracted, huh?”

“Yeah.” Brian scoots a little closer, leans his shoulder into Jamie and grins. “Can you think of a good distraction?”

So that’s how Brian ends up in one of Sid’s guest rooms on top of Jamie as they kiss. Jamie has big hands, and they’re clutching Brian’s hips and it feels good, feels grounding. He takes the initiative and blindly unbuttons Jamie’s shorts, pressing his hand inside and _shit,_ Jamie is...proportional. “Fuck,” he groans into Jamie’s mouth. “Oh fuck I want this inside me.”

Jamie’s mouth goes slack in the kiss and he gently pulls away. “Um,” he says, and his mouth is shiny with saliva from their kissing; Brian finds himself drunkenly mesmerized by it. “Um, I was sort of hoping…”

“Did you want to bottom?” Brian asks, unable to contain his disappointment, coming through clear in his tone and the frown he can tell is peeking through.

“It’s just, I never get to.” Jamie wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and the shininess is gone, the spell is broken. “You’re a big guy. I figured - “

“You figured I was a top,” Brian snorts, and then suddenly both of them are pulling back and laughing, a sort of embarrassed understanding. “Everyone thinks I’m a top.”

“Me too!” Jamie says. “I mean damn, just because I’m big, doesn’t mean I _always_ want that! Sometimes I just wanna lay back and let the other guy do all the thrusting, you know?”

“Like if I’m gonna fuck someone, it’ll be a _woman,”_ Brian agrees. “Way less prep work, right? Top with the ladies, bottom with the boys.”

“Hell yeah, bro,” Jamie grins, which suddenly fades. “Well, shit. Uh...rock paper scissors for it?”

“Nah, I got a better idea for you.” Brian climbs off Jamie, ignoring his protesting cock, hard in his swim trunks. “Shears is a small dude but he’s a fucking _feisty_ top, and he’s got a hall pass tonight. Trust me, he would love to fuck you.”

“You don’t wanna…?”

“Oh no. Me and Shears are besties. I don’t wanna bring sex into that, you know? Too weird.”

Jamie nods. “Right on. Okay. Thanks, man. Sorry for, uh…”

“Hey, don’t be sorry. Go find Shears before he’s too drunk to get it up. Go, go.”

They share another kiss and then Jamie’s out the door with a wave. Brian watches him go, waiting a healthy beat to make sure he’s gone and then groans and flops down on the bed, staring up at the ceiling.

Could this season get any fucking worse.


	2. Chapter 2

Sid’s annoyed at him.

Well, Sid’s annoyed at everything right now. Kris can tell this loss hurts him badly, like he hasn’t been hurt since Giroux and his band of fuckboys knocked them out in 2012. Sid’s an absolute expert at not showing his true emotions, and Kris can see him through the floor-to-ceiling window, sitting on his couch and giggling at something, curled into Geno’s side. Jake and Rusty are there and laughing too, and it _looks_ like everyone is having a great time.

But Kris can still tell. Everyone thinks he’s oblivious at reading people’s emotions, but that’s not true; he’s actually quite adept at it. It’s just that he doesn’t usually care if something is bothering one of the rookies or the backup goalie is in his own head. What is he gonna do, try and fix it? He saves that shit for Sid.

What Kris is _not_ good at is pretending everything’s okay when it’s not. “You go outside,” Geno had finally told him after one too many sarcastic comments. “Be grumpy out there. Stop moping. Bringing me down.”

“Oh, so you’re okay with losing?” Kris had asked, which earned him a healthy stare from Sid.

“Kris,” he’d warned, and that had been enough. He threw his hands up, made a rude comment in French - which he could tell Sid understood based off the small infuriated noise he made - and stalked outside.

Which brings him to now. He should just fucking go home. This isn’t a party, it’s a fucking _funeral,_ a wake for their shit season. He idly glances around: the bonfire is dying down, although there’s still a good amount of guys clustered around it; Phil and Hags are smoking cigars on the porch; someone is floating in the pool - 

Kris squints. They _are_ floating, right? Not face-down and drowned? “Crisse,” he mutters, stalking over to the deck and throwing open the pool gate. “Who’s that, are you dead?”

“Not yet,” comes the reply.

“Jesus, Dumo.” Kris frowns as he watches his d-partner stand back up in the water, glide over to the edge and grab his beer, taking a healthy drink. He’s absolutely wasted, Kris can tell from his sloppy movements, the slurring of just the two-word answer he gave. “This is how people drown, you know. Alone and drunk in the pool.”

“Yeah. Alone and drunk,” Brian echoes, and he sounds melancholy. “Whatever, I’ll be fine.”

“Dumo - “

“What? Tanger, _what?”_ the bitter snap of his tone would usually make Kris angry, especially in his already-irritated state, but instead he finds himself...sort of ashamed. Not an emotion he’s usually stuck in. Kris hasn’t been a great teammate this year. Not to anyone, but especially not to Brian. He tries not to think about that too much, but he knows it.

They’ve been partnered up for almost three years now, and Kris likes him, he does. He wasn’t lying to the media when he said he loved being his defensive partner. Something has changed, though. That first year, Brian was the fresh-faced rookie. He was quiet, he knew his place, he performed. Kris had been demanding, but he always is, and Brian had internalized those demands and those harsh words and had become better. The entire team became better and they’d _won,_ knocked off the Sharks, raised the Cup. They weren’t friends that year, not really, but they were teammates and they worked well together and the results spoke for themselves.

That second year they got closer, actually became friends. Brian grew up, and Kris watched it happen over the season, then watched from the press box because his injury kept him out of the lineup for the entire playoffs. Brian didn’t need to lean on Kris this time, kept performing right alongside Ron Hainsey, and sometimes it felt like it wasn’t even Kris’ team or his D-corps anymore by the time the playoffs were done and the second Cup was raised. Kris carried that Cup around wearing a pristine uniform, not one drop of his own sweat on it, and tried not to have any regrets.

This year was supposed to be Kris’ grand comeback tour, and he was excited to play with Brian, who isn’t that fresh-faced rosy-cheeked rookie he was against the Sharks. He’s a man now, a veteran, and he’s _good_, and then suddenly the season began and Brian was better than Kris, game after game. That wasn’t supposed to happen. Yeah, Kris was fresh off a major injury, but every month he’d think this is it, _this_ is the month he’d get over the hump and be back to his old self, and it just never happened. Instead Brian was his rock all year, and he ended up more bitter than grateful for it, because he was failing Brian and failing the team by not being good enough.

In his worst moments, Kris feels a little threatened, although he’ll barely admit that to himself, let alone anyone else. He’s not getting any fucking younger, after all.

Then during the playoffs it was Brian that was playing like shit. It’s not like Kris was _happy_ about it, but he saw the opportunity. It was his chance to step up, to reverse course, to be the guy Brian leaned on and not the other way around. It was Kris’ chance to be the hero, _his_ chance, the veteran, the guy with the ‘A’, the All-Star.

He couldn’t do it. They failed together, and now they’re here. Worse was how they failed, snarling at each other like animals on the bench, because that quiet rookie is gone. Brian grew up and learned to talk back and stand up for himself. At some point, he stopped being willing to meekly take Kris’ shit.

This season is all fucked up, but maybe a little part of it can still be salvaged. Brian is still watching him warily, so Kris extends the first olive branch. “Can I come in?”

“Like, in to the pool?” Brian glances around, as if he’s not sure the question was directed to him. “Uh, yeah, nobody’s stopping you.”

“You look like maybe you want to be alone - “

“Just get in the pool, Tanger.” The anger is gone, squeezed out and replaced by a soft sort of sadness. Kris shucks off his shirt and jumps in, making a splash, and when he emerges out of the water Brian is spluttering and wet. “Come on, man,” he chides, but it’s a little more playful now, which is exactly what Kris was going for.

“You’re already wet,” Kris points out, swimming over to Brian. Brian drains the rest of his beer and goes to push off the wall, away from Kris, but Kris snags his wrist. “Hey, wait. Stay.”

“Stay?”

“Stay,” Kris says, putting his best _command_ voice into it, and Brian’s wrist goes pliant under his grip, from tense to relaxed in an instant.

“Okay,” he says softly, and there’s a strange shine to his eyes. He licks his lips. “What else?”

Kris chews on his lip, watches the water run slowly down Brian’s wrist. He’s always been shit at apologies, but… “I guess I just want to say sorry. This season didn’t go how I wanted it to go. You know that. But, I take it out on you, and that’s not fair. I meant what I said to the press, Dumo. I like playing with you. I _love_ playing with you, you’re my partner. You’re so good. Really good.”

Brian swallows, audible in the quiet dark. He takes a moment to seemingly soak in the praise, but then shakes his head, droplets flying everywhere. “I wasn’t,” he says, quietly, staring off somewhere past Kris’ shoulder.

“It was a shit post-season for both of us. Next year - “

“I’ll have to face him. Next year.”

Kris frowns, whatever he was going to say dying on his lips. It’s clear that he and Brian aren’t talking about the same thing. “What?”

It’s obvious when Brian snaps back to the present as his hand clenches and he goes tense again. “Huh?” he says, blinking wildly. “Nothing. I didn’t - nothing.”

“Who’s ‘him’?”

“Nothing,” Brian says again, but Kris is a nosy bastard, and being a little drunk makes it even worse. He crowds into Brian’s space, pins him against the side of the pool, and it’s playing dirty, because he knows Brian has a little crush on him. Then again doesn’t most of the team? All the young guys, for sure.

“Tell me,” he orders, spanning his hands down Brian’s side. Even under the water Brian feels like he’s burning up, and Kris can feel him trembling, just a gentle shudder.

“You’ll hate me,” he says, voice barely a whisper.

“Never. _Tell me.”_ Maybe this is how he can make it up to Brian. Find out what’s bothering him and fix it. But first, he needs to figure out what the hell is going on.

Brian’s chin drops to his chest, and he looks almost pained. “Last week. Me and - and Tom Wilson, I - we…” He trails off, seemingly unwilling to finish, but Kris understands. Understands his meaning, at least; doesn’t understand _why._

“Last week? Dumo, you mean in the playoffs?” Of all his characteristics, Brian is fiercely loyal to his friends and the team. Dallying with the enemy during their series, even one as hot as Tom Wilson, is out of character for him.

“He said it was an _apology._ For, you know, the stupid hit. I never should have - look I _know_ it was dumb, but - it’s just, he - I have certain things I _like_ and he, he…”

Kris takes a moment to process the sentence, which is a little slurred from Brian’s intoxication and jumbled together as he mumbles. English still fucks him up sometimes, but he’s pretty sure Brian is implying that he’s got some strange sexual tastes that only Tom Wilson has recently given him. What the fuck could _that_ be? All sorts of weird shit runs through his head as he shifts, pressing Brian up against the side of the pool just a little harder. Brian makes a soft sound, almost a whine, and - _oh._ Shit, he nearly forgot about the rookie party, how excited he got at being tied up.

“It’s this?” Kris asks, snagging Brian’s wrists and keeping them pinned to his sides. “You let Tom Wilson...tie you up?”

It’s not really a question that needs asked, because Kris can _see_ it’s true. Color is crawling up his cheeks, the kind of red he gets after a too-long shift on the ice. “I told you it was dumb. I told you that you’d hate me.”

“I don’t hate you,” Kris says automatically, which is true, he’s just confused. Shouldn't there be people _lining up_ to tie up Brian? That’s not so weird. Unless…

Kris remembers, suddenly, the shark grin that Brooks Orpik had when he dragged Brian off during the rookie party. Brooks’ tastes always tended more towards the...extreme.

So that must be it, then. Of course Tom Wilson would be into pain. Just look at him on the ice. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

“What?” Brian shakes his head quickly. “No, no. Not at all, I swear. I mean, not off the ice. It didn’t affect my playing at all. Tanger, I _swear.”_

“But you liked it? What he did to you?”

“I - “ Brian looks like he might not answer the question, so Kris wedges even closer, squeezes Brian’s wrists until the skin goes white under his grip. “Yes. I did. Yes. I hate that I did, but yes. Look, I’m just trying to put him out of my mind.”

Brian’s not looking at him anymore, and Kris can tell he’s mortified. Well, that won’t do. Kris might have been a bad teammate all year, but at least right now he can be a good friend. “I can help,” he says. “Whatever that idiot did for you, I can do better. Then you never think of him again. Deal?”

“You don’t have to - “

“No shit I don’t have to. I _want_ to.” Kris tosses his head back, offering a cocky grin. Truth be told, he’s never been into this whips and chains shit, but he _is_ into proving that he’s better at Tom Wilson at literally everything, so why not? Plus, he makes Brian feel better and he probably gets sex out of it (which he will _also_ be better at than Tom, guaranteed).

He’s fucked most every other defensive partner he’s ever been paired with and it’s never turned out awkward. This shouldn’t be any different.

Brian chews on his lower lip. “You don’t even know what Tom did.”

“Eh.” Kris shrugs, dismissive. “I know enough. Have heard about your tastes. I know I can be better than that asshole at what you want.”

At the mention of _your tastes,_ he thinks he sees Brian flinch a little. “So, um...so you do this stuff, too?”

“What do I look like?” Not really an answer, and definitely a lie in its implication, but Brian slowly nods.

“Well...okay. Text me. If you want.”

“What all should I have ready?” He needs to know what to buy. If he needs to overnight ship a flogger, he’s going to be getting weird Amazon ads for _months._

“I have it all. If I’m coming to your place, I’ll bring it.”

Kris grins, squeezes his wrists, which forces a sharp exhale out of Brian. “Yes, definitely to my place. Maybe you should tell me - “

“The _fuck_ ‘re you boys doin’,” comes the interruption. A very unsteady-looking Jake Guentzel is squinting at them from poolside. “Is this like a weird D partners thing?”

“Yes, D partners thing, _Jake,”_ Kris sighs, waves at him. “Don’t you have like, forward line thing? Go find Sid.”

“I wish,” Jake mutters, but he does turn and wander away, swaying dangerously.

“I should go after him,” Brian says, reluctantly pulling his wrists from Kris’ grip. “Make sure he’s okay.”

“You’re damn near as drunk as he is, I think.”

“Nah,” Brian says, climbing out of the pool, but there’s definitely a little drunken wobble as he does so. He looks like he wants to say something else, and pauses, but just awkwardly finishes with, “Well, okay then,” and heads off, grabbing his towel on the way out.

Shit, he didn’t get to ask exactly what Brian expected. Well, whatever. He can Google search some stuff. He’s a fast learner.

Brian is going to have a _great_ time.


	3. Chapter 3

The amount of junk food that two professional hockey players can eat is enormous, and one hungry dog isn’t helping the situation. “She’s not going to want her real food if you keep feeding her those,” Brian tells Conor, who is sneaking his dog a steady stream of pepperoni-flavored Combos. Roo’s a squat bulldog with an endless appetite, and she’s wolfing them down, the pretzel exterior crunching in her mouth.

“She deserves a treat,” Conor says, ripping into the Doritos bag.

“She gets a _million_ treats, and - don’t fucking touch your controller with your grubby hands. You’ll get cheese dust all over the PS4.”

Conor snorts, but sets down the controller, on pause from their marathon video game session. “You’re such a bummer,” he says, mouth half-full of chips. “We should order pizza.”

Brian laughs despite the fact that Conor's chewing with his mouth wide open. This has been a tradition for him and Conor, the last few years; after a long season of watching everything he’s eaten, having nutritionists carefully curate his meals, in the first week of summer he spends 24 hours in junk food hell with Shears. They eat enough sodium that Brian’s thirsty for a week, and play enough video games that he can’t see straight. It’s a little less fun this year, though. “Order it then, man.”

“Lazy motherfucker,” Conor snipes without malice, but snags his phone, making a streak of orange dust on the outside. “The usual?”

“Actually, uh - just order me a medium.”

Conor lifts his eyebrows, skeptical. “You have all summer to get back into shape. I know you can fuck up a large pizza yourself, I’ve seen it. What gives?”

Brian hefts a sigh, doesn’t try to hide it. “Don’t tell anyone, but me and Tanger, we’re uh...we have this thing scheduled in a few days. We’re gonna, like…fuck. So I don’t want to go too overboard with the food.”

“Oh yeah, he’s got a nice dick,” Conor says, and Brian can feel his face arranging into confusion, which Shears ignores. “Two things. One, you’re not going to get fat in one day of an epic junk food binge. Even if you did, I hate to break it to ya, but choosing a medium versus a large pizza won’t do shit based on the amount of calories we’ve destroyed today.”

“Fair enough, I guess.”

“Two, have you not fucked him yet? I thought Kris has fucked everyone on the team.”

The way he says it is so casual, staring at his phone to finalize the pizza order, that Brian’s jaw drops. “What?! Have you…?”

“We traded blowjobs. He wanted to top, and you know how I feel about that, so we didn’t bang.” Conor sets his phone aside with a smirk. “I ordered you a large, because I know that’s what you really want. Wait, you two seriously haven’t fucked yet?”

“No! What do you mean that _everyone_ has?”

Conor shrugs. “Like at least half the team. And I thought he’d fucked the entire D corps, but I guess not. Now that I think about it, I’m kinda not surprised. You’re totally clueless when guys make passes at you. And girls, for that matter.”

Brian scoffs, stealing the Doritos from Conor’s grasp to his protests. “I am not.”

“You fucking are! I specifically remember Tyler Seguin flirting with your dumb ass during the game in Dallas this year and you didn’t get it, at all.”

Brian squints, absently staring at the snacks but not moving to eat anything. He’s _pretty_ sure he’d remember if Tyler fucking Seguin had made a move on him, and nothing is coming to mind. “Are you sure Seguin wasn’t just flirting with Tanger, and I happened to be...in the way, or something?”

“See? Clueless.” Conor snatches the bag back, cramming a fistful of chips into his mouth before Brian can protest. “But thanks for sending Big Rig my way the other night. I could tell he was skeptical at first, but oh boy I showed him.”

“So you struck out with Knuckles again?”

Conor extends one orange-colored middle finger. “Don’t fucking remind me. Yes, _and_ I was striking out with Hags too before Jamie found me. Did you know Hags and his girlfriend are getting together with Horny and his wife? They’re trying out the quad thing. So Hags said he didn’t want to hook up while the relationship was so new. I mean, good for them, but fidelity is fucking _boring,_ so hopefully they’ll open it back up after the novelty wears off.”

This is a place where they disagree; Conor loves his girl Jordan, and they’re set to be married in just a few months. Brian has the wedding invite stuck on his fridge. But, like most couples he knows - especially in the NHL - they occasionally open things up. It works for them, and it doesn’t mean they love each other any less.

But Brian doesn’t think fidelity is 'fucking boring,' and sometimes that makes him feel like a freak. Well, _more_ of a freak. If Shears knew that he fantasized about dropping to his knees and kissing a beautiful Domme’s high heels, he’d probably think that was plenty fucking weird too.

It’s not until the pizza arrives and is half-devoured that Conor gets back to Kris. “So you gonna let him fuck you? Tanger?” he asks, breaking off part of his crust and slipping it to Roo, who is staring at him with wide, greedy eyes. “I mean I assume yes. It’s a match made in heaven, you’re such a fucking bottom and Tanger is...well, _Tanger.”_

“I mean, yeah. Sure.”

Conor shakes his head, eyes glued to the movie they’re watching while Roo makes a pathetic noise, trying to convince them to give her more pizza crust. “I bet he’s not even gonna get you off.”

There’s a healthy sneer of disdain in his tone, and Brian can tell Conor’s too busy watching the movie to expect a real response, so he lets his mind wander for a moment. Normally, his fantasies tend towards the gentle, being tied or held down, warmly praised and told he’s good, doting attention and worship on his Domme; he likes men just fine, but it’s always a woman in his fantasy, because he finds male Doms tend to be at least a little sadistic, and Brian is no masochist. But sometimes, _sometimes,_ he likes the idea of just being used. Chained to a bed, reduced to nothing but holes to fuck, and not even getting to come. No matter how much he begs, or pleads, or cries, because his wants are irrelevant.

Kris not getting him off, under the right circumstances, wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world at all.

Maybe not for their first time, but…

Wait, does he really think there’s going to be a second time?

“Did he get you off?” Brian asks Conor, trying to keep his tone light.

“Sure, but I’m not nice like you. I made him suck me first before I reciprocated.” Conor finally tears his eyes away from the movie. “You’re too nice sometimes. Don’t be nice. Ask for what you want, Dumo. _Demand_ it.”

The problem is, Brian doesn’t want to make decisions. He wants what Kris wants. There’s no way that Conor would understand that, though, so instead he says, “Sure.”

Conor gives him a healthy, skeptical side eye. “Okay, Dumo. Then eat the rest of your pizza before I feed it to Roo.”


	4. Chapter 4

Kris sets the tryst up for a muggy summer evening, just after dinner at his place, and Brian agrees without complaint. He feels sort of bad that Brian is going to have to lug whatever fancy equipment they’re using all the way over to Kris’, but if Brian wants visitors to come to him, he’s going to need to move out of that tiny condo of his. It’s like he doesn’t realize he has money, sometimes.

Brian is perfectly punctual, and for once he doesn’t look exactly like a frat boy. He’s wearing a patterned button-down, nice khaki shorts, a backwards cap -

Ugh, okay, he still looks like a frat boy, just a..._dressed up_ one. Kris finds his fashion sense hopeless, but whatever. Those clothes will be on the floor soon anyway. He’s gonna fuck the guy, not take him shopping. Brian’s got a drawstring bag slung over his shoulders as he steps inside, and Kris nods at it. There’s the fancy equipment; he wonders what’s inside. “So. You bring…?”

“Yeah. Everything we need.” He’s playing hard at casual, Kris can tell, but he’s nervous.

“Well? Let’s see.”

“Oh, uh.” Brian hesitates, but opens the bag up and takes out a long coil of black rope, safety scissors, and…

Nothing else?

Kris tries not to let his frown show. He thought _surely_ there would be some other implement in that bag. A flogger? A riding crop? A crazy sex swing or something? Shit, Tom Wilson must have used his hands then. Of course, a man like that wants to _feel_ the pain he’s inflicting.

More concerning, however, is the fact that it’s a coiled rope and not cuffs. Kris knows plenty of knots, but those are all fancy ones for his ties. Will those still work with rope? He’s quickly realizing that he’s a little over his head, and perhaps he should ask Brian for some guidance, or maybe cut the shit and admit he doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing.

But he thinks about asking for help, and that’s what he’s been doing _all season,_ being helped by Brian. No, even though this session is ostensibly for Brian’s benefit, Kris finds himself a bit eager for it, to his surprise. He wants to finally, _finally_ feel like he’s in charge and in control of something, after a long turbulent season where sometimes it seemed like both his body and mind rebelled against him.

Okay. He can do this. “I want you to go to the bedroom. Third door on the right. I want you to get naked and wait for me. Take the bag.” Kris has watched a couple BDSM porn clips in the last few days, and he tries to think of the voice the Doms usually had, that powerful burr that brooks no argument, and project it. He’s got a fierce growl on the ice, but he’s usually angry when he uses it, and he does his best to wipe any anger from his tone at the command.

It seems to work. Brian’s eyes go wide and then dark, and he nods, clutching the bag to his chest as he makes his way down towards the bedroom.

First test over with, then. Kris shuffles around his kitchen for a few minutes, grabbing a drink of water while he waits, gives Brian time to undress before making his way down to the guest room. Kris doesn’t let any hookups in his master bedroom, and Brian is no different.

He is naked when Kris enters, fidgeting next to the bed, although he straightens up when Kris enters. He mumbles something under his breath, something Kris can’t catch. “What was that?”

“I - “ Brian looks embarrassed. He’s already so red, red everywhere, blooming on his bare chest and up his cheeks and neck. “I said ‘Sir’. But I don’t know if you like - “

“You want to call me Sir?” Kris steps up, gently grasps Brian’s jaw in his hands. He can feel the tension there. “Then do it.”

“Okay.” Brian licks his lips, and Kris can feel everything through his hands. “Sir.”

_Sir_ \- he kind of likes the honorific, likes the respect. “Good,” he says, and Brian shudders almost imperceptibly, eyes drooping.

Brian has shaved the travesty that was his gigantic fluffy playoff beard, but it’s already starting to grow back. The stubble scratches Kris’ fingers as he glances up and down Brian’s body, something he’s seen plenty of times but never really _studied,_ not like this. He’s lanky, impossibly long legs, a triangle dust of hair on his chest running down his stomach and lower. Already half-hard, his dick is just as long and thin as the rest of him. And he’s tall; Kris has to look up to see his face and suddenly he hates it. He wants to be the big one here. “Turn around,” he growls. “Bend over the bed. Hands behind your back.”

“Yes, Sir,” Brian says quietly, turning to obey, and - alright. Kris can get used to this. He can see the appeal, certainly.

Brian folds himself over the bed, which is a little too short for his size; he has to bend his knees to properly get himself into position. But he does, and then his hands go behind his back, and he waits.

Kris glances over at the drawstring bag, open on the nightstand, a coil of rope spilling out. Does he go for the tie-up first? Shit, what knot is he going to use, maybe just a standard square? That has to work with rope, right?

Fuck it, he’ll start with his hand. That he _knows_ he can do right; he’s been with plenty of people who have begged to be spanked while Kris was fucking them behind, and while that’s never been his thing, it’s no big deal to oblige. He steps up, traces his fingers down the small of Brian’s back and the crest of his ass, and Kris can hear Brian’s breath hitch just a bit. He rubs his fingers over one cheek - right here, he’ll start with this spot - and then pulls back and delivers a firm swat. The flesh-on-flesh slap is loud in the quiet bedroom, and Brian jerks up and away from the spank with a small cry.

“Quiet,” Kris commands, delivering another spank, but when he pulls back for a third Brian is halfway up the bed, twisted around, hands out protectively in front of him. He looks betrayed. Looks _scared,_ and it’s enough to stop Kris in his tracks.

“Stop! Safeword! Stop!” Brian pants, and they stare at each other for a long moment. Now Brian looks as confused as Kris feels. “Why would you do that?”

“Why do you freak out? You - this is what you like!”

“Where the hell did you get that idea?!”

“The rookie party! You - and Brooksy, and - I remember - “

Brian shakes his head. “I _hated_ that,” he says. “I - I fucking cried, in front of everyone, and...shit. You weren’t there when it happened. You were off with Olli, and…” He makes a frustrated sound, scrubs his hands over his face. “Fuck, I’m an idiot. I don’t know why I thought we could do this without talking about it first, so here we are.”

“Did you talk about it with Tom Wilson first?”

Brian looks up sharply at the name, scowling. “No,” he says, slowly. “But that was different.”

“How?”

“He - he _asked_. Before he did anything, he said exactly what he was going to do, or he asked me. I felt like I could say no at any time. But, uh. Asking isn’t really your style, Tanger.” Before Kris can process that and feel insulted, Brian offers a placating smile. “So what that means is that we need to talk about this _first_ and both establish what we like and don’t like and pick out an actual safeword. I mean, if you still want to do this.”

It sounds complex, and Kris is half tempted to say no. But then he remembers the look in Brian’s eyes at even the flimsiest command, the way he went down so easily at anything Kris said.

And if he did that for Tom...fuck that. Kris wants that too, and more particularly he wants Tom out of Brian’s head forever. “Okay,” Kris says, straightening up to his full height. “Okay. Let’s talk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate to start a fresh fic and then interrupt the posting schedule (currently every other week) especially when we're just about to get to the fun stuff, but...I'm headed on vacation! Next chapter will be a bit delayed.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's going to be a very minor amount of French in this story, and I...do not speak it. So if you do, and my research fails me on something, feel free to correct me in the comments!

It serves him right, Brian supposes. It’s like, rule _one_ of BDSM, that you talk about limits and stuff, so the fact that he’s standing here, naked and mortified and with a red ass is definitely his fault.

It’s just, with Wilson - 

Well. Kris definitely isn’t Tom Wilson.

“I’m going to get a drink,” Kris says as they head back out into the hallway, towards the living room. “You want one?”

“I can get it. What do you want?”

Kris glances over, eyebrow raised. “Well I was going to make myself a gin and tonic. So unless you want to do that…”

“I can,” Brian says, and Kris’ other eyebrow goes up at that statement, so he huffs an embarrassed laugh. “Tanger, I’m, uh. I’m, y’know. Submissive,” he says, and the word sounds odd, like he has a mouthful of syrup when he says it. “This is sort of my thing. Let me do it.”

Kris twists his mouth up. “I’m a little picky with how it’s made,” he says in probably the least surprising statement ever.

“You? Picky?”

It takes Kris a moment, but he scoffs when he registers the chirp. “Yeah, yeah,” he says. “Fine. We go to the kitchen, I tell you how I like it, eh?”

“Deal.”

Brian’s prowess in the kitchen is fairly well known after one reporter found out and decided to write an article about it, but what’s lesser known is that he’s pretty decent at making drinks as well - the classic cocktails, at least. Gin and tonics, Manhattans, Sidecars. He’s trying to perfect the Old Fashioned now, but the sugar muddle is a real pain in the ass.

And what _nobody_ knows is why Brian has made it a point to learn how to cook and make drinks: as he told Kris, it’s sort of ‘his thing’. When he does find the right person, he wants to be ready to serve her, or him. The idea of making a meal for his Dom and watching them enjoy the fruits of his labor, and maybe even praising him…

He wants to bring _value_ to the relationship as a submissive, is all, and making food is a pretty good start. It doesn’t hurt that he actually enjoys cooking, too. He gets that same pleasure at seeing a good cocktail coming together. As it turns out, Kris just wants a little more gin than the recipe traditionally calls for, which is easy enough to do. “You have limes?” he asks, as he’s measuring out the tonic.

“I don’t usually bother with that, but...what the hell, if you insist. You aren’t making yourself a drink?”

“Just a water for me,” Brian says, as Kris gathers the limes from the fridge. He wants to be clear-headed for all of this. Kris probably should be too, but one drink won’t hurt.

Kris sets a bottle of water down next to the limes, then leans against the counter, watching Brian work. “You sounded weird, you know,” he says. “Uncomfortable. When you told me you were submissive.”

Kris picked up on that, of course he did. God, he makes that word sound hot with his French accent. _Submissive._ Brian carefully slices a lime while choosing his next words. “It’s not exactly a thing to shout to the world, is it? We’re pro athletes. We’re supposed to be these big alpha males, that shit. How do you think guys would treat me if they knew?” He remembers warm-ups in that next game against the Caps; catching Wilson’s eye, the slow smile he gave Brian. It was obscene, smug. Brian still feels a flush of hot shame and fear when he thinks about it, whether Wilson is going to keep his secret or not.

“So you’re ashamed of it.”

“I never said - “

“No, you didn’t have to. But you’re not wrong. You get judged for everything in this league.” Kris nods at the drink, which Brian is just finishing up, pressing the sliced lime wedge onto the rim. “It looks good. Maybe go to the living room, talk some more?”

Brian keeps the glass until Kris is settled on the couch, then carefully sets it down in front of him with a dip of his head. “Enjoy,” he says, and after a brief pause settles on the couch next to Kris. Maybe at some point he’d wait for permission, but they’re not in a scene yet, even though he is bare-ass naked. He watches with interest as Kris takes the first sip.

“It’s...good,” Kris says, almost like he’s surprised that Brian didn’t fuck it up. “Very good.”

“Thank you.”

Kris fixes him with a contemplative look. “So what exactly is it you like? I assume it’s more than just making me drinks. If you don’t like pain…”

“I don’t,” Brian says, quickly. “Everyone assumes, but - nah. I get beat up enough at the rink, why would I want more in the bedroom? For me, submission is about serving. About making you happy.”

“Making _me_ happy?”

“The general ‘you’,” Brian says quickly, although fuck it; yeah, he _does_ want to see Kris pleased. “Like a Dom. But yeah, that’s why I like fixing drinks or making food. I serve with no motive other than pleasing you. Because that pleases _me.”_

“Hmm.” Kris leans back, tapping his fingernail against his glass. “So let’s say I ask you to clean my bedroom. You’d get off on that? You want to be a slave?”

“No, well - not exactly? It’s not a slave thing. Slaves are usually treated like dirt. Me, I like being recognized for my service. You know, if you’re happy with me, I wanna know.”

Kris chuckles. “So like a _pet._ You’re chasing that praise and approval.”

The description kicks his heart rate up a little, not only for its accuracy but because it feels like something he _should_ be ashamed of, to be needy like that. “Okay, fine, but like a human pet. There’s people out there who put on, um, dog ears and a tail and drink out of a bowl and bark and stuff. I’m not into _that.”_

Kris looks both incredulous and contemplative at that description, smirking. “Okay, but answer the question I gave earlier. You want to go clean my bedroom?”

“I _would_ if it’s what you really wanted,” Brian says, slowly. “But I’m more into things that I can actually see you enjoying. Meals, drinks. Foot rubs.”

Kris mutters a soft curse in French. “Well you sound like the perfect fucking boyfriend so far,” he says. “What’s the catch? Why aren’t you dating anyone?”

That’s a complex question. Brian knows he wouldn’t be particularly satisfied in a vanilla relationship (he had plenty of those in college, and they were fine, but not his long-term goal), but actually finding one is harder than Kris thinks. He tried FetLife - the social kink site that most people use to try and find play partners - for awhile, and really worked hard to make a good profile while still staying somewhat anonymous, not showing his face. He was respectful in his messages to others who were looking to meet people, not even bringing up sex or submission at first, but getting women to message him back was challenging, and most men wanted something a little more hardcore.

He still remembers the last message he had on the site, with some Dom whose profile had all sorts of interesting bondage photos. _Wait you won’t even accept spanking?_ he’d asked, the incredulous tone coming through even in text. _Bro I’m not telling you what to like but that’s gonna be a tough sell. I’m not here to just tie you up and touch you gently. That shit is boring._

So that was that. And the idea of walking into a public, in-person BDSM meetup makes his blood run cold. He knows that the community is generally very strict on anonymity, but all he needs is for one person to run to Deadspin, and...forget it.

But that’s not something he necessarily wants to explain to Kris, so instead he says, “Thing is, it’s more than just me cooking you dinner and giving you a foot rub. I don’t want control in the bedroom, either. I like being tied up. I want _you_ to make the decisions. That sounds pretty fun, right? Well, maybe for a day, but it’s a lot of work if you’re doing something long-term. Being a Dom is a lot of responsibility, and it’s not for everyone.” Brian shrugs. “It’s fine. It’s not like I’m desperate or anything. Just enjoying life right now.”

“So that’s what Wilson did for you?” Kris leans forward, setting his drink aside. “Tied you up? Took control? I want to know, so I can erase those memories and replace them with me.”

Brian swallows, watching Kris, who is wearing something like his intense game face now. This is probably just an ego thing for him, but he’ll take it. He’d rather have Kris in these memories than Tom Wilson, too. “Yeah, he did. He tied me up - my arms. Then I…” God, this is embarrassing. “Then I knelt at his feet for awhile and he touched me all over. Just gently, you know? And then, um…”

It gets a little hazy here, because he’d gone under. His first fucking experience with subspace - because surely it couldn’t have been anything else, it was like being drunk without the silliness, like the bone-deep satisfaction of a long sleep after a hard game - and it came at the hands of _him._ “Then?” Kris prompts.

“I blew him a little, on my knees.”

Kris makes a little noise, reaches out to press his thumb along Brian’s jaw. “Just a blowjob? Or did he fuck your mouth?”

“He, uh. Yeah, that was it.” He’s blushing, he can tell, but he carries on as Kris withdraws the touch. “Then he took me to bed. Tied my legs up and I couldn’t move at all. He fucked me. Made me...made me beg a little. Then he, um, he came on my face.” He had come stuck in his fucking beard for _days._

“You let him do all that?” Kris asks, and his tone is quiet, serious, surprised. Brian feels a little nauseous.

“I know. I _know_, okay, but.” He doesn’t want to admit that his experience with Tom wasn’t something he’d ever done before. How could he turn down something that he’d always longed for when the opportunity presented itself? It was his wildest fantasy come to life in front of him, with a guy way out of his league. Who could blame him?

“So you’d let me do that to you?”

Brian glances up from where he’s staring at the floor, startled. Kris asks that like he’s not sure of the answer. “Of course. If - if you want it, too. But we should pick a safeword, in case something goes wrong. Something we’d never, ever say during sex.”

“Never ever?” Kris polishes off his drink, eyes up on the ceiling in thought. “Like…’Thanksgiving dinner’, or something?”

“I dunno, I watched a porn once where the top threatened to stuff the bottom like a ‘turkey dinner on Thanksgiving’, so…”

Kris bursts out laughing, warm and delighted, and Brian laughs along too. “Oh you like dirty talk, do you,” Kris says, smirking.

Brian grins back. “As long as it’s better than that, right? Well, uh...how about..._Gary Bettman.”_

“Oh god.” Kris pretends to gag. “You’re right, that shuts sex right down, eh? Well I do my best to make sure you don’t have to scream out _that_ name.”

“I’d appreciate that.”

There’s a beat of silence where neither of them quite seem to know what to do next; Brian is just starting to feel overly anxious about it when Kris sinks back into the couch, nodding at him. “Okay. You want me to tie you up, I can do it, but is there instruction manuals or something? I need directions.”

“There’s YouTube videos,” Brian says. Kris nods and fiddles with the remote for his gigantic television, setting it up for internet access, and Brian pulls up a basic rope tutorial, not wanting to overwhelm Kris. “Here, this should do it.”

Kris pushes back his coffee table so there’s a large space in front of him on the floor, then settles back like he owns the place, which - well, he does. “Alright then. So you’re ready? After this moment, I’m in charge?”

Brian nods, staring at the space between Kris’ legs. “I’m ready. But can I get a pillow? Like, if you want me to kneel.”

“Oh.” Kris looks startled at the question, then annoyed, although by this point Brian knows him well enough to see he’s annoyed at _himself,_ probably for missing that detail. He waves at his big, overstuffed armchair, where there are multiple pillows piled up. “Of course. Pick your favorite. And go get that rope you brought.”

He gets the rope first, retrieving it from the bedroom before surveying the pillow options in front of him. They all look pretty much the same, so he picks his favorite color, and gets a surprise when he hefts it up; it’s sturdy, but it’s exceptionally soft, and he strokes his thumb down the fabric as he brings it back over. Leave it to Kris to get expensive throw pillows. Hell, Brian didn’t even know that was a thing, figured they all cost about $25 like those he bought online.

He carefully sets the rope on the couch next to Kris, and the pillow on the floor. “Thank you...Sir.” He tacks on the honorific at the last second, because Kris did say he wanted it, and they _are_ in a scene now. Kris’ mouth quirks into a smug smile at the word, so Brian thinks he probably likes it.

His stomach is a mess of nerves, rolling and twisting, as Brian sinks to his knees on the pillow, right between Kris’ legs. He remembers suddenly all the past experiences hooking up with teammates - how good they were in the moment, how awkward it got later - and resolves not to let that happen here. It _can’t._ This is a man he needs to work with every day and maintain, at minimum, a professional friendliness.

It doesn’t help his nerves that he’s lusted after Kris for years. Not only is he beautiful, but he’s got a loud confidence that Brian’s always wanted turned his way. He always thought Kris would make a great Dom.

Now, he supposes, it’s time to find out.

“Relax,” Kris tells him, so he must look wound up, and he exhales shakily against Kris’ knee while Kris pulls up the YouTube video. Behind him, on the television, Brian can hear the instructor speaking, but Kris makes no grab for him. Instead, he sets one big hand on Brian’s head and idly carves his fingertips through the hair as he watches the video.

It enables him to relax, slowly letting go of his fears and anxiety, his world narrowing down to Kris’ hand and the gentle touch, the familiar words of the video washing over him in a mumble. Around the halfway mark of the video Kris moves his hand to the back of Brian’s neck, cupping it, and he makes a soft, involuntary noise, bowing his head further. His hair is getting long in the back, too long, and Kris plays with an errant lock at the nape, curling it and uncurling it around his fingers. How can something this simple feel so amazing?

God, if he could only do this after every shit game he has during the season. He just wants to kneel. Just wants to be _good._

The video finishes, and Kris grip on his hair tightens. “Turn around,” he says, voice soft but a clear command. “Face the TV. Put your chest against the coffee table, and give me your arms.” Brian straightens up and starts to follow the order, but Kris snags his shoulder. “I want to hear it. Tell me you heard me. ...Acknowledge me,” Kris says as he finally seems to remember the word.

“Yes Sir,” Brian says, and glances up at Kris’ expression to gauge if that’s what he wants. It seems to be, so he continues his turn, slumping against the coffee table to give Kris access to his arms. The glass is cold against his chest, so different from the warmth next to Kris, and he sucks in a breath.

Kris plays the video again. It’s just a simple double column tie, pretty much the most basic thing you can do besides a single column, but Brian didn’t want to overwhelm him. Kris’ fingers are soft when he grabs Brian’s wrists to start the tie, but there’s a callus on his palm that slides rough over the skin and he’s not sure why, but he finds it kind of comforting. He’s got his own callus there too, a rough patch right under the fingers, where the laces bite into the skin as he ties his skates again and again.

Brian’s not sure how long it takes to tie him, because he lets himself float in the sensation of the ropes and Kris’ hands. He’s not quite under yet, but it almost feels like he’s a little drunk, a little loopy when the tie is done. A gentle test of the knot shows it’s done correctly; he can’t move his wrists apart at all.

And then Kris yanks at the knot, undoing all his hard work. “What - “ Brian mutters, chest coming up off the coffee table, but Kris places a hand on his back and shoves him back down.

“Stay,” he growls. “I’m going to do that again. The video says it’s a _foundational_ knot, no? So I should be good at this one?”

“Yes. Yes, Sir.”

Kris grunts at the answer, the knot almost completely undone. “You know, I speak French,” he says. “When you acknowledge me, you should do it in my language. You know the French words for ‘yes sir’?”

“Uh.” He does, but his brain is only partially working right now, not in any state to think hard about anything. “Oui, Monsieur?” he says after a beat, more of a question than a statement.

“Your accent is terrible,” Kris says. “Like one of the worst I ever hear. You don’t pronounce the ‘n’ or the ‘r’ in monsieur. _Oui, Monsieur._ Or you could use _Maître._ Say it again.”

The words roll effortlessly off Kris’ tongue, and Brian’s quite sure he’s not going to get any of the nuance, but he tries. “Oui, Monsieur. Oui, Maître.”

“Work on it later,” Kris says, which doesn’t make much sense because when is he ever going to use these words again? Well, maybe to say _maitre d’._

“Which do you prefer?”

Kris has started to rework the knot, but his hands fall still for a moment. “Maître,” he finally says. “Monsieur just reminds me of what waiters call my father.”

“Alright.” Brian takes a deep breath, tries to hold still. “Maître,” he mumbles softly, trying to get it to sound right, although the way Kris pronounces it still feels foreign in his mouth.

Kris is more proficient with the knot the second time around, and this time he leaves it tied. “How does that feel?” he asks.

“Good, Maître. _Bien,”_ he tries, because he’s pretty sure that’s the French word for ‘good’. He’s heard the French-Canadians use it, anyway.

Kris snorts. “Terrible accent,” he says again, but this time he sounds kind of fond about it. “Turn again. Face me.”

It’s harder this time with no hands to twist himself around, going slow so he can keep his balance and not topple over. He realizes that at some point, Kris has shucked off his clothes; they’re in a pile next to him, and he’s wearing nothing but his gold chain that always dangles from his neck. Brian’s seen Kris naked before, of course, countless times, but - 

He’s never seen Kris half-hard, and he’s certainly never been between Kris’ legs while that happened. He stares at it for a beat, taking in the curve, the length, the uncut head, the neatly trimmed hair around it, before raising his eyes to Kris’. He’s grinning, a casual confidence - maybe even _arrogance_ \- about his body and dick that sends something straight down to Brian’s gut. “You just going to look?” he asks.

Brian swallows, shakes his head, leans forward to get his mouth on Kris, but is stopped by a hand on his jaw. “Ask,” Kris says. “Ask nice for it.”

“Um…please? Maître?”

“Please _what?”_

A fresh thrill of both arousal and embarrassment runs down Brian’s spine. God, he’s never been good at dirty talk, always feels a little ridiculous doing it. “Please...please let me...suck your dick,” he stutters out.

“Good, good,” Kris praises, and that, _that_ definitely does it, Brian feels suddenly and stupidly proud that he was able to say it at all. Kris is still only half-hard, but he makes a soft groan when Brian closes his mouth on the tip.

Kris tastes clean in his mouth, but it’s not a clinical and sterile kind of clean. There are smells that Brian has come to identify with the guys he plays closest to, each one different. Sweat pours off them, and they wedge right next to Brian on the bench or in the locker room, and they pull close in hugs, and it’s something ever-present and inescapable, the _scent_ of other men. Some guys smell awful, they stink, but Kris has always been this heady smell that just brought to mind something masculine and heavy. Here, between his legs, he feels like he’s drowning in it, the very essence of Kris.

Brian gently acquints himself with Kris’ cock for a few moments, sucking at the head, feeling the weight on his tongue before Kris moves his hand to Brian’s throat, spanning his palm there. “Pull off if you need,” Kris says, and Brian doesn’t have time to question what that means before Kris is thrusting up. Once, shallow, twice, a little deeper, and the third one fills his throat, pressing against the hand that sits there. He can’t help it; he pulls off, coughing wetly into the couch.

“Sorry,” he groans, and his voice already sounds raw.

“Hmm?” Kris tilts Brian’s head up to meet his gaze, eyebrows raised and expectant.

“Sorry...Maître,” Brian corrects, and he knows he’s already a mess, can feel the spit slicked through his beard and down his chin, can’t wipe it away with bound hands. Kris is a blurry vision through his watery eyes, and as he blinks, a tear runs down his cheek. “I want to. I’m just not - not good at - you know.”

Kris slides his thumb along the corner of his mouth, through the wetness. “I’m big, eh,” he says, not a question. “Let’s try it again. I won’t go so deep.”

He stays true to his word. Brian gets Kris back in his mouth, and the thrusts are deep enough to make him feel used but not so deep to choke him out. Honestly, it’s pretty perfect, and he can feel himself going under again, lets himself sink into the submission, the knowledge that his mouth is just something for Tanger - no, right now he’s Sir, Master, _Maître_ \- to use as he sees fit. Kris’ hand is pressed right under his jaw instead of spanning his throat this time, and Brian realizes that Kris is able to feel his own cock fucking into Brian’s mouth from the outside through that touch. He lets out a little involuntary moan at the realization and then Kris is shuddering and withdrawing.

“I’m giving you a choice,” he says, accent thicker through the arousal. “I finish in your mouth right now, or I fuck you and finish there.”

“I want…” His voice is croaky, both from the face-fucking and the half-lidded, intense look being cast down upon him. Coughing a little, he finishes: “Please, I want - fuck me, Maître.”

“Alright. Stand.” Kris snaps his fingers like he’s an unruly animal, and that’s sort of shocking. Brian’s not quite sure how to feel about it, so he files that away for later and gets to his feet, shakily, because it’s apparent that Kris will not be helping him up. “You remember where to go?”

“I think so.”

“So go.”

He turns to head down the hallway, and there’s a _presence_ behind him, Kris trailing close by. There’s hands on him then, roaming wherever they please as he walks, the touch going down his back and along his bound wrists, and following with a little swat to his behind, gentle, very gentle. As they get to the bedroom, Kris halts him with two hands curling around his waist, grinding Brian back into his hard cock. “Good boy,” Kris breathes in his ear, nipping at his jaw, and it makes Brian want to melt backwards into him. “You’re sweet. You do want to be good for me, don’t you?”

Brian can only nod, words escaping, as Kris scrapes his teeth along his shoulder. It’s a little painful, but he’s able to tolerate this hurt, the bites and nips, especially when soothed with a kiss. Somehow, it’s different. Kris nudges him gently towards the bed and he goes, lets himself be pushed onto the bed, chest-first. The world goes a little muffled as his face is pressed into the soft blankets without his hands to hold him up.

Apparently, that’s how Kris wants him, because he’s left like that for a long moment. Brian is simultaneously eager to get Kris’ touch back on him but also pleasantly content to just lay here and bask in what’s already happened. Tied up, gently pet, mouth used, all the things that push his buttons. If this ended now he’d be happy with the evening, even though his untouched cock lays hard between his legs.

The hand on his ass tells him very clearly it will _not_ be ending yet, however. He exhales, hot and loud into the bed as Kris dips his fingers, strokes along his entrance with a slick touch. “Shh,” Kris soothes, fitting his other hand around the back of Brian’s neck, which causes him to whimper. “I always wondered what it was like to fuck you. How you liked it - gentle, or hard, or - well I never thought this. But it’s a good look on you. Sweet and eager, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”

He can’t look with Kris gently pressing his face into the bed, and he tries to say _please,_ although it’s garbled in the fabric. Kris seems to understand, though, because his fingers press in, and he can’t do anything but lay there and take what Kris gives him, and that’s...it’s _perfect._

Kris is talented with his fingers, although that may be an understatement. Brian’s not exactly the most experienced bottom, doesn’t get it nearly as often as he’d like, and the things Kris is doing to him are pretty much melting his brain. Has he just forgotten how good fingering is, or is Kris really fucking good at it? He’s only dimly aware that he’s being loud, crying out without words until Kris chuckles and leans down next to his ear. “Going to have to gag you, maybe,” he says. “Next time. You think you’d like that?”

_Next time…?_

Kris gives a thoughtful ‘hmm’, his fingers never stopping. “You know, on second thought, I think I like it. Keep screaming for me.”

He’s not sure he could disobey that order if he wanted to, and by the time Kris withdraws his fingers, he’s a sweaty, shivery mess, squirming in the rope cuffs. He wants Kris to fuck him, he wants to _come,_ he wants, he wants…

A hand firmly rolls him over onto his side, as far as he can go with his hands tied behind him. “Look at me,” Kris demands, and so Brian does, blinking through bleary eyes. Kris is rolling on a condom, staring at him. “I want to watch you,” he says. “And I want you to watch _me_. While I fuck you.”

“Yes Maître,” he breathes.

He’s never been fucked on his side before. On his knees, on his back, on top, yes - but this angle is new, and it’s different, and Kris isn’t small, because of course he’s not. Brian wants to bury his face back in the blankets to hide his whines but Kris’ eyes stay locked with his and he can’t look away as Kris pushes inside, slowly but inexorably, until he’s full up. He thinks about what Kris said, whether he likes it gentle or hard, decides right now he doesn’t care either way as long as Kris just _moves._

“Good boy. Such a good boy,” Kris says, leaning over him, _looming_ over him and pausing with his mouth a bare inch above the skin, right at the indent between his neck and shoulder. Then Kris nips him - maybe more accurately a bite - it’s hard, and it stings. Kris cups the back of his neck at the same time, and murmurs “good boy,” again, and there’s a shock of adrenaline and endorphins and then Brian’s floating, fuzzy. Suddenly he can’t remember why he ever thought hooking up with Kris might be a bad idea, can’t remember why he ever told Kris _no_. His hard limits seem far away, now.

“Watch me,” Kris reminds him, and Brian looks up at Kris. Kris is thrusting now, long deep strokes which rub his neglected cock against the sheets, and there’s a little frustrated part of him screaming to get off but mostly that doesn’t seem to matter. He’s giving _Kris_ pleasure, he can tell that by the face he’s making, the look in his eyes, the soft pants and sighs and grunts. That’s the only thing that matters right now, that his body is _useful_ to his Maître.

Brian wants to let Kris know it, swallows, has trouble thinking of the words. “You can,” he says instead, because it’s the best he can do right now. Kris makes a questioning little huff, changing the angle, which - God, that’s good, and Brian cries out a little before he can elaborate. “Anything,” he says. “Anything you want. Anything, I’m yours. Please, please.” _Please let me be good for you._

“I know. I know,” Kris says, smirking, and the thrusts change again, hard slams which would physically move his entire body if Kris didn’t have his hands on him. Kris bites out a curse, something French, when he comes, and Brian almost, _almost_ wishes it was on his face instead.

There’s a long pause as they both catch their breath and Kris gets rid of the condom, and then belatedly, a hand on his cock, rubbing at the tip. Brian is suddenly aware of how wet he is, lower belly and thighs smeared with his precome, and a desperate whine rises in his throat as the need to get off hits him full force. “Yeah, you need this?” Kris asks, stroking him.

_“Please,_ Maître,” he says, sounding half-crazed, barely recognizing it as his own voice. Kris’ hand is slick with lube and precome and it feels amazing, and he tries to buck up into the touch but with his hands bound, it’s hard. Instead he writhes and fidgets and pants throughout the handjob, and it feels like forever that he’s close before he tips over the edge with a shout, coming hard.

Kris blurts out a French word that sounds awfully like a swear. “All over my bed, how is it so much?”

“Mmmf,” he grunts as Kris unties his hands, and he rolls over, out of the wet spot, curls into a fetal position and…

He must pass out, because the next thing he knows the room is dark, lit only by a soft lamp, and his mouth is killer dry and Kris is gone. “Kris,” he calls, coughs, clicks his tongue to get saliva back in his mouth. “Tanger,” he tries again.

“Out here,” comes the return, sounding like it’s from the living room, so Brian throws his clothes back on - it appears Kris at least tried to clean him up, although he’s still disgusting - and shuffles out to meet Kris. Kris is on the couch, holding a cup of what appears to be tea, shirtless but clad in soft looking pajama bottoms. Brian showed up here shortly after dinner, and now it’s pitch black outside and it feels late. “There you are. You didn’t really drink any of your water. I put it back in the fridge if you want it,” Kris says, and more than anything he does.

After he retrieves the bottle from the fridge and gulps its entire contents down, he takes a quick assessment of himself. Physically, he’s fine. Wrists just a touch sore but nothing major, throat still a little raw but that will fade, that freshly-fucked feeling between his legs. But emotionally, he’s not sure. It’s a weird feeling, like when he was a kid and they’d have trips to the amusement park, and at the end of the day he’d still be riding high on the joy of roller coasters but there was also this undercurrent of disappointment that it’s over. That’s what he feels like now. “Sorry I fell asleep.”

“You got fucked pretty good,” Kris grins, cocky as ever, and Brian chuckles, ducking his head.

“Yeah, guess I did.” Maybe this could actually work, he thinks. It’s not awkward; not on Kris’ part, at least, who looks exceedingly casual and comfortable, like Brian came over to borrow a cup of sugar instead of getting tied up and fucked. They’re joking about it. That’s a good sign, right?

“But it was? Good for you?”

He lifts his head to see Kris watching him earnestly, and Brian nods, serious. “It was...great, Tanger. Thanks. I needed that, I think.”

“You’re free in...mmm...two days? Day after tomorrow?”

Brian blinks. “I, uh...yeah? I think. I mean, yeah. Why?”

Kris shrugs. “The tie was kind of fun,” he says. “Text me more videos. More harder ties, I mean. If you leave your rope, I can practice and then I can do them on you, if you want.”

“You want to?” He can’t hide the disbelief in his tone, and Kris laughs.

“I still need to come on your face, no?” he says, winking, then shrugs. “I mean, if you want to come back, you come back. No big deal.”

“No big deal,” Brian repeats, still stunned, before shaking his head. Tanger wants to do this _again?_ Well - why not? If they’re not awkward together, if this could actually be the hookup that _works,_ why not do it a few more times? “I mean - _yes,_ I want to come back. Yeah. That would be awesome. Shit, what time is it?” Roo is probably going nuts at home.

“Almost 11.”

“Shit. I gotta go,” Brian says, even though all he wants to do is stay and cuddle up to Kris. But hell, they haven’t even _kissed,_ what makes him think Tanger would be up for snuggling? “Thanks again.”

Kris nods, sipping his tea. “Maybe next time you come make me dinner first.”

“Okay. Sure. Text me? Or, uh, I’ll text you. The videos. Right. Okay, I’ll...see you soon,” Brian says, still in a fog of disbelief. Kris waves goodbye, not getting up from the couch.

By the time he gets home he feels crashed out, exhausted, maybe even a little numb. Like he was so fucking happy before and now he’s somehow used up all his happiness for the day. After dinner and a walk, he snuggles up to Roo in bed, where she grunts in pleasure, her squat body a heavy weight against his chest. It helps, and he falls asleep trying not to think about Kris and what just happened, not doing a very good job of it at all.


	6. Chapter 6

Kris wakes up the next morning thinking about ropes.

He doesn’t usually dwell on hookups too long, but he gets through his morning coffee, breakfast, and his workout routine and it’s _still_ on his mind, so he’s forced to confront that perhaps this is different. Kris has a lot of sexual experience, including a few times when he’s used handcuffs on someone at their request, but that had never really done too much for him. In fact, Kris had always had the vague notion that they were only doing it to impress him, in a weird way - _look how unique and kinky I am!_

The rope, though, that was intriguing. He hadn’t expected to like it, but after Brian was tied, there was an exhilarating feeling of - 

Of what?

Kris struggles to put a name to it, but _accomplishment_ is maybe the right word. Something created by his own hands, something that took real work and obviously gave Brian a lot of pleasure. And the way Brian looked up at him, bound and on his knees, like Kris was the master of his entire world - there was a power there, especially knowing Brian had no ulterior motives in mind. Brian doesn’t want his money, doesn’t want to worm his way into a date, doesn’t have starry visions of Kris falling in love with him and being a player’s spouse. That submission was genuine, and he wants more of it.

Kris snorts and shakes his head, pushing open his laptop, a fresh cup of coffee in his hand. He figured he knew all his sexual preferences and likes by now, but leave it to _Dumo_ to teach an old dog new tricks. That deserves a reward; maybe some new tie, complex and pretty, something that will really put Brian under. He’s got a whole day to practice, why not?

Brian hasn’t sent him the rope demos yet, but the YouTube channel from last night is still up on his laptop, so he browses the videos while sipping his coffee, trying to decide what to learn. Hog ties, harnesses, belts...

Two hours later, he’s had lunch and switched to tea, but he’s still on his laptop. The rope tutorials have segued into a general search of BDSM, reading as much as he can. He frowns at the section on aftercare and wonders if he missed something; but Brian didn’t ask for it, and apparently not all subs need it. It does, at least, give him a better understanding of the mindspace Brian was in when he begged Kris to do _anything._

Finally, he makes his way over to FetLife - which every BDSM article seems to mention - and works on creating a profile. Viewing a few people in Montreal, he finds there are some absolutely gorgeous men and women looking for play partners. Kris will be back there soon. He could message them and have some fun.

Something stops him, though, a hesitation that surprises him. Maybe it’s not the best to just dive into the deep end, he realizes. He doesn’t want to hook up with a beautiful person, be a terrible Dom, and have them tell everyone in the city’s scene to avoid him. He’s still new at this, and if Brian is willing to be his guinea pig to get some experience, he should probably take advantage of that before branching out to more desirable partners.

Not that Brian isn’t _desirable_, just - ‘gangly American boy’ isn’t exactly Kris’ type. Brian will find someone perfect for him, though. Kris is sure of that.


	7. Chapter 7

Brian manages to get through breakfast and an incredibly half-hearted yoga routine - something his trainers recommend, and he usually enjoys - before forcing himself to confront what he really already knows: something is wrong.

He’s lethargic, and the idea of leaving the couch even to do things he generally enjoys isn’t appealing. At first he thinks he’s getting sick, maybe coming down with a summer cold, but there aren't really any physical symptoms. No runny nose, no cough.

It’s not like he’s the biggest expert on BDSM, but he knows all about aftercare, and they definitely didn’t do anything like that. That’s his fault; Kris is the clueless one here, and Brian knows he needs to ask for things.

But it doesn’t make _sense_. Aftercare, as he knows it, is for those pain subs, the ones that are getting whipped and spanked and choked and going through an intense roller coaster of emotions. That’s what aftercare is for, to bring those subs back from the edge.

What edge did _Brian_ get to? Sure, he got tied up, but mostly he just got petted and stroked and his hair played with and told he was a good boy. Hell, what he and Kris did together _is_ the aftercare for some people, he thinks. Brian’s not the kind of submissive that should need aftercare. That’s for the real subs, the ones left with bruises and marks.

Unfortunately, it appears he does need something, if this antipathetic feeling today is any indication. What he should do is call Kris, explain the situation, let them go through the aftercare together, albeit a little late.

What he does instead is end up at Conor’s place under the guise of having a playdate with Roo and Sheary’s two dogs, Brady and Louie. ‘Playdate’ is a bit of a misnomer; Roo plays for about ten minutes before tiring herself out, and they all end up on Conor’s giant couch in his basement, the three dogs draped over both of them while they nap. Conor lets Brian cuddle up close and by the time they wake up, he feels better.

“You seem out of it today,” Conor says, ruffling Brian’s hair. “What’s up? Did you bang bang Kris Letang yet?”

“Oh my god, _dude,”_ Brian says, laughing despite himself. “Stop. Yeah, I did. It was good. We’re seeing each other again tomorrow.”

“Whoa, hold the fuck up,” Conor says, sitting up, causing one of his dogs to nearly tumble off the couch. “You’re seeing him again? Tomorrow? Like, for sex?”

“Yeah.” Brian frowns. “Why that look?”

“Tanger doesn’t go back for seconds, Dumo. At least that’s what he says. See, if you fuck a person a second time it’s a ‘thing’, and Tanger doesn’t do…’things’.” Conor rolls his eyes to indicate exactly what he thinks of that principal. “You must have some weird kinky shit you’re into. C’mon, spill. Did he piss on you or something?”

Brian can feel his face heat at the mention of ‘kinky shit’, but he sticks his tongue out at the last suggestion. “What? Ew! No!”

“No? ABDL then?”

“What the hell is ABDL?”

“Adult Baby Diaper Lover.”

_“Dude.”_ Brian’s at a loss for words for a moment. “How the hell do _you_ know about that?”

Conor shrugs, grinning wide. “The internet is a weird place, man. You should try it sometime. Okay but legit, how was it? Did you get everything you wanted out of your little tryst?”

He’s just about to agree, but swerves at the last second. “Mostly,” he admits, and Conor’s face falls and darkens.

“What’s this ‘mostly’ shit? I told you, you gotta ask for what you want. You expect Tanger of all people to read your mind?”

Brian groans, hiding his face in the blanket. He _did_ already get this pep talk from Conor, but it’s apparent he didn’t take it to heart. “Fine. You’re right,” he says, muffled in the covers.

“Sorry, what was that? I didn’t hear you, could you repeat that? Speak up a little?”

Brian lifts his face from the covers, grabbing one of the pillows off the floor. “I said you’re _right,_ jerk,” he says, swinging the pillow and connecting it to Conor’s jaw at the same time. They end up in a mock wrestling match as the dogs bark, excited, and by the end of it, Brian feels better, almost back to normal. He goes home, redoes the damn yoga routine the right way this time, and takes Roo on a long walk. Well, long for a bulldog, so about a quarter of a mile. It gives him time to think about what he wants, what he _needs_ if he and Kris are going to do this again.

Aftercare - check. Besides that, he can’t think of too much he didn’t like from the tryst. Maybe the finger snapping, he wasn’t a fan of that. Otherwise, just more of the same would be nice, maybe a different type of tie - 

“Shit,” he groans, because Kris specifically asked him to send rope videos and he forgot in his wallowing sadness. He frantically searches for a few easier ones and sends them off with an apology.

_It’s alright,_ comes the response. _Found some myself. These ones you sent are too easy, what you take me for??_

And then:

_Still on for dinner? I bought steak, can you make steak_

That’s quite a whirlwind of emotions there for Brian. On one hand, Kris found videos all on his own - which means he was motivated enough to do it. And he said the videos that Brian sent were too _easy._ Admittedly, he did send along some basic ties, not figuring Kris would be ready for anything more complex yet. What has he been doing, sitting and home and practicing all day?

The idea of Kris winding ropes around chairs, or maybe his own ankles, getting ready for Brian tomorrow is a thrill in itself. He still feels ashamed for not sending the videos like he promised, but it’s tempered a little by the building excitement in his gut.

That last text, though. _Did you seriously just ask if I can make steak??? I’m going to make you the best damn steak you’ve ever had._

_We’ll see,_ Kris sends back.


	8. Chapter 8

BDSM porn kind of sucks, to Kris’ dismay. He just wants to pick up some ideas and maybe jerk off a little, but it’s all face slapping and spanking and spitting. Lots of humiliation and pain, which does him no good because Brian’s not into that, and Kris finds himself off-put by it as well. He wants just _one_ video where the porn star looks at the Dom the way Brian looked at him, reverential and obedient, not scared and hurting.

Maybe he’s just looking in the wrong place. It wasn’t all in vain, anyway; the candle wax and clamps looked somewhat interesting, and in a few of the videos, the Doms had pet names for their subs. _Granted,_ those nicknames ranged from ‘cock slut’ to ‘fuck toy’, none of which exactly seem appropriate for Brian, but Kris can get into the pet name thing. If Kris is going to be called ‘Maître’, it seems only fair that Brian gets a title of his own. Calling him ‘Dumo’ in a scene seems wrong, somehow.

By the time Brian shows up that night, Kris has narrowed it down to two options. “I’m going to be nice and give you a choice,” he announces to Brian as he ushers him inside.

“A choice? Dare I ask?” Brian says, toeing off his hideous flip-flops. He’s dressed a little more casual than last time, Kris notices, a t-shirt and khaki shorts that Brian apparently wants to believe fits him.

“Okay, _first_ of all, if you’re going to show up dressed like you’re in college, you can just get naked. Actually, I like that idea. If you’re coming over to scene with me, you just take your clothes off right when you get in. First thing you do.”

Brian blinks, eyes wide. “Like, right now? ...wait, ‘scene with me’?”

“Well, yeah.” Kris pouts, feeling a little defensive. “Isn’t that the right termi...term...the right way to say it?” Fuck, what is that word?

“Terminology,” Brian says. “Yeah, it is. I’m just surprised, cause that means you’ve been, uh, looking stuff up. Also, I think we need to talk. About. About aftercare.”

_Aftercare._ That thing that Kris thought maybe Brian hadn’t needed - it appears that perhaps he does. “Talk now? Or afterwards, and you tell me what you need?”

There’s a long moment of silence, and it’s pretty clear he’s internally warring with himself, but his dick seems to win out. “After,” he decides.

“You’re sure?”

“After,” Brian says again, decisively this time.

“So why are you still dressed, then?”

“Shit,” Brian mutters, and immediately pulls the shirt over his head. He gets undressed quickly, leaving his clothes in a pile by the doorway, then gives Kris a shy smile, as if Kris hasn’t seen him naked a thousand times.

“Good boy,” Kris says, skimming his thumbnail down Brian’s nipple, earning a squeak and a blush. “Alright then. You want to know your choice now?”

“Yeah, uh - oui, Maître.”

“I think you need a pet name, too. So I let you choose: _chiot,_ or _chaton.”_

Brian swallows, frowns a little. “I don’t - what do those mean?”

“Choose, and then I tell you.”

There’s a long beat of silence as Brian wrestles with the decision, and Kris is just about to demand an answer when he says, “Alright. Chaton.”

“Why did you pick that one?”

“Um...it reminded me of _chateau?_ Like a fancy house, right? So hopefully chaton is just as cool.”

Kris has to bite back a smirk. “Well, the one you didn’t pick, chiot, that means ‘puppy’. You picked ‘kitten’.”

“Aw - “ Brian makes a face, wrinkling his nose. “Is it too late to switch?”

“You know it is.” Kris steps up, gently scratches his nails through Brian’s beard. “Hey, you picked it fair and square, eh? _Chaton._ It suits you, I think.”

“Mmm.” Brian shakes his head. “You know I’m 6’4, right? Like, the world’s biggest kitten?”

“Not when you’re on your knees, you’re not. And you will be on your knees plenty.” Brian’s expression morphs instantly from a playful exasperation at his nickname to that wide-eyed, subordinate look Kris recognizes from two days ago. No, not just two days ago; Brian used to offer this same look when he was young, fresh in the NHL, when Kris was already the grizzled veteran. Back when he hung on every word Kris said, back when Kris was the undisputed #1 on the team. Respectful, obedient, just a little bit starstruck. It feels good for someone to look at him like this again.

“Anything you want,” Brian says, and his voice is quiet, but clear. “I can make dinner now, if you’d like. I, er, might need an apron, though.”

“You’ll get an apron. But you need another accessory first, too. See, I _did_ do some research and one article I read says every sub deserves their own plug. I think that’s probably true, eh? I have a very nice one. Tried it once, not really my thing, but wouldn’t it be nice to watch you make dinner all plugged up. Plus, once we’re done eating, I can just pull it out and you’ll be open and ready for me.” Kris lets his hands wander down Brian’s body, skimming around his hips and pressing his thumb to the little indent right above the curve of his ass, and Brian lets out a little huff of air.

“I’ve never cooked with a plug in. I just want the steak to be perfect - “

“It will be. I trust you.” He snaps his fingers, pointing towards the bedroom. “Safeword, or let’s go.”

Brian looks a little dismayed at the snap, pausing like he wants to say something, but turns and heads to the bedroom. Kris lingers behind a little, watching him as he walks. Maybe ‘gangly’ isn’t the right word for him anymore; he was so scrawny when he first came up to the show, all limbs, shockingly tiny for a 6’4 hockey player. But he’s filled out, and somehow Kris never noticed. He’ll never be Sid, but there’s at least some definition now, enough to admire.

“I can’t tie you up yet, because you need your hands for cooking,” Kris says as they get to the guest bedroom, the play space. “So I need you to just be good on your own. Bend over the bed, keep your arms stretched out, don’t move. Can you do that for me?”

Instead of answering, Brian just...does it. Moves how he’s ordered, stretching out, those long limbs splayed on the bed above him. He even crosses his arms at the wrist, like he wants to be extra sure that he’s good. Kris recognizes the almost imperceptible shudder that goes through him, like he’s been waiting all day for this.

Just like before, he’s _loud_ while Kris fingers him, using plenty of lube, opening him up. There’s not really any words - an occasional ‘oh god’ - mostly just incomprehensible noises, like his brain isn’t working well enough to even say anything. Kris usually finds loud hookups to be fake and showy, just another thing that people feel they need to do to boost his ego, but he doesn’t get the sense that’s happening here. “How often do you bottom, chaton?” he asks.

“Not - not as much as I’d like, Maître.”

“And why is that?”

Brian’s arms twitch, like he’s having trouble concentrating on both answering questions and keeping still at the same time. “Just - don’t hook up a lot, and - I’m big. Men always assume I wanna top.”

“But you don’t, do you? You want to be right here like this, bent over a bed, aching to be taken. Hmm?” Kris presses against Brian’s prostate, earning a whimper and a frantic nod.

He takes his time opening Brian up, both because he wants the plug to be comfortable, but he also wants to be a little mean. Brian isn’t going to get to come right now - not for a long while - and he’s worked up, humping against the sheets, trying to find some friction for his hard cock. “Stop that,” Kris scolds gently. “Or I won’t let you come at all, later.”

Brian goes still, very still, and Kris thinks for a moment maybe he’ll safeword out of that, but - “Okay,” he whispers. “If that’s what you want. I mean - I mean I’ll stop, but if you didn’t want me to come…”

“Ohh, you _like_ that idea? How about we save that for later.” _That’s_ interesting, but Kris files it away in favor of retrieving the plug, freshly-washed. “Take a look, chaton. Here it is.”

Brian turns his head, glances back. “It’s - metal,” he says, sounding surprised.

“It is. Comes highly rated, but like I say, just wasn’t my thing. Gets cold, though - you want it warmed up?” At his nod, Kris leans down, presses the plug close to Brian’s mouth. “Do it yourself, then. Open up.”

Brian opens his mouth obediently, and Kris sits it on his tongue, the wide base poking out of his mouth. While they wait for the plug to warm up, Kris plays with Brian’s ass just a little more, dipping his fingers inside, rubbing around the rim; Brian’s groans are muffled now with the plug in his mouth. When Kris retrieves it, it’s warm and wet, coated in saliva. “If it’s still cold, don’t blame me,” he declares, giving it a quick coat of lube and lining it up.

The plug is thick and wide - the guy who suggested it to Kris mentioned it needed to be a particular size to _really_ get its full effects - and Brian’s body resists for just a moment before opening up for him. “Oh, god,” he says quietly as the plug gets seated inside. “Feels heavy. Big.”

“No hurt?”

Brian shakes his head. “No, Maître.”

“Good.” Kris brushes his fingers down the base of the plug, gently pats his butt. “I’m ready for dinner now, then.”

Brian’s hands curl briefly into fists, like he’s frustrated and wants more - he probably does, he’s still hard - but he pushes up off the bed, just a little unsteady on his feet. “Can you show me where everything is, please?”

Kris enjoys the walk to the kitchen, letting Brian go ahead, catching the metal glint of the plug every so often as he walks. He’s pretty proud of his cooking space, something that was very important to him in a house, for as many meals as he makes. He learned the importance of fresh, clean food early in his career. “I have lots of veggie and starch options. You pick what you want, eh? And I have an apron hanging on the hook over there for you.”

Brian nods, listening attentively as Kris shows him where everything else is. “Just ask if you have questions,” Kris says, taking a seat at the breakfast bar and pulling out his phone. The kitchen has a built-in stereo system, and they could use a little music, he figures. By the time he scrolls through his options and picks out a playlist, Brian is setting a drink in front of him, a beautiful gin and tonic. “Oh,” Kris says, surprised, picking up the drink. “You remembered.”

“Of course, Maître,” Brian says with a grin. He honestly looks kind of ridiculous in the apron and nothing else, ass sticking obscenely out the back, the plug barely visible. The drink is, just like last time, absolutely perfect.

Brian doesn’t seem to have any questions, busying himself with the cast iron skillet, so Kris plays a little on his phone, answers a few emails. He keeps glancing up to check on Brian, make sure everything is going okay, but Brian moves confidently through the space, jaw set and square, the kind of concentration he gets during tough games. The more Kris watches, the more he realizes that his previous thought that Brian looks _ridiculous_ is a bit unfair. Maybe not ridiculous. Actually, it’s kind of sexy, but that’s more due to his focus and effort in cooking than the apron. Brian bends over suddenly, doing something with the oven, and there’s the plug, shiny and in the most intimate of places, and - fine. That _is_ pretty sexy, Kris admits.

“Getting close,” Brian says, standing up and brushing his hands on his apron. “Just waiting for these potatoes. Steaks won’t take long at all - you like yours rare?”

“Between rare and medium rare.”

Brian squints. “Oh, I bet servers love you. Is that a thing?”

“Hey!” Kris sets down his phone and slips off the stool, stalking over to Brian and gently pinning him against the fridge. He keeps a smile on his face so Brian knows he’s not upset, and Brian lets himself be pinned easily, not fighting it even though the stainless steel appliance must be cold on his bare skin. “What back talk. If I didn’t know any better I’d say you were making fun of me. If I didn’t know any better I’d say you want punished.”

Brian can’t quite keep the smile off his face. “No, Maître. Not me, Maître.”

“Maybe I just won’t get you off, after all.” Brian’s smile drops off, but he licks his lips. “Or maybe that wouldn’t be a punishment for you.”

“It would - “ Brian starts, but then Kris bends down and gives the plug a little jolt, and he trails off into a nonsensical whine.

“Bad kitten,” Kris teases, nipping at Brian’s jaw and then stepping back. Brian blinks dumbly at him, not moving for a moment, before seeming to snap out of it.

“Sorry, Maître,” he breathes, heading back over to the oven with shaky steps to check on the potatoes.

“It’s désolé, you know.”

“I’m sorry?”

Kris can’t help the laugh. “Exactly,” he says. “Désolé, it means ‘sorry’. Or if you really want to be formal, ‘je suis désolé’ is I’m sorry, and ‘je suis vraiment désolé’ is I’m _terribly_ sorry.”

“Je suis...vraiment...désolé,” Brian says, and somehow his accent is worse than _Sid’s_. Kris didn’t even know that was possible.

“Something like that,” Kris says, feeling strangely fond over the fact that he’s at least willing to try. “You rest the steaks after they’re done, yes?”

“Of course,” Brian says, in the same tone you’d take if someone asked if you showered regularly.

“Perfect. It gives me time to tie you up, then. I have a new one, it will hopefully take less than ten minutes, if I do it right.”

“Tie me up?” Brian pulls the potatoes out of the oven, and the smell of garlic fills the kitchen. “Like my feet?”

“No, it’s a hobble. Arms behind your back.”

“So I can’t eat?”

“Oh, I never said that.” Kris smiles, crossing his arms. “You just won’t be able to feed yourself.”

It takes all of Kris’ willpower not to laugh when Brian’s jaw drops open.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Here](https://i.imgur.com/3Lv2uAr.jpg) is a SFW photo of the tie referenced in this chapter.

Of all the things Brian expected when he showed up at Kris’ door earlier, being fed by hand was not one of them. “Uh, this isn’t like a force feeding thing, is it? That’s a hard no for me.”

Kris squints. “A what?”

“Um, it’s like where you’d feed me until I didn’t want to eat anymore and then you keep feeding me.” That’s _probably_ not it, because as far as Brian knows getting fat is a major part of that fetish, and that’s clearly something he can’t do, nor would he want to. But he remembers their terrible communication from earlier, and he just has to ask.

Kris tilts his head, looking confused. “Why would I want to do that? Why would anyone want to do that? You know - don’t answer. Something for everyone, right, I get it. No no, this is just...you on your knees, and I give you dinner.”

“It’s not punishment, right?” At first glance it seems degrading, like a child not yet entrusted with the independence to feed itself.

“What? No! Look, we don’t have to. It’s no big deal to me. Just thought you would like it. Whatever.”

Brian’s known Kris long enough to realize that Kris is invested in this idea now, trying to play it off like he doesn’t care one way or the other. It’s odd, though; this doesn’t seem like something that would particularly interest Kris. Still, the more he thinks about it, the more he realizes it could be good, could be soft and sweet instead of demeaning. “Let’s try it,” he says, and is rewarded with a smile.

“Right. I mean - of course we’re trying it. I’m in charge,” Kris says, seemingly just remembering now that he calls the shots here. For the moment, at least. “You hate it, you safeword out.”

“Oui, Maître.”

“Alright. Keep doing what you’re doing, and when everything is ready and the steaks are resting, I tie you up.” Kris grabs his gin and tonic, tilting it to observe how much is left. “Make me another drink too, won’t you? The first one was delicious. I’d enjoy another.”

“My pleasure, Maître,” he says, feeling a little chagrined at the request. He’s supposed to - well, he _wants_ to anticipate these kinds of things, be able to do them before his Dom even asks. No use beating himself up, he supposes. Kris still has more than half his drink left, so it’s clearly a preemptive request. And it’s not like Brian’s really ever done this serving thing before, so he’ll make some mistakes.

It’s nice being useful, though. He finishes off the potatoes, whips up some quick mixed veggies, makes Kris another drink, and starts searing the steaks with the same warm glow that he gets after a really good shift, after Gonch comes over and clasps his shoulder in praise. He can tell Kris is watching him work; Brian keeps glancing over to check, and while it’s true that Kris is sometimes scrolling through his phone, he’s just as often tracking him through the kitchen with a smile. It feels like an acknowledgement of what he’s doing here, and that’s always been the point about service for Brian. Appreciation, praise, affirmation. It’s what sets service above just randomly doing chores. He wasn’t sure if Kris would ‘get it’, but Brian’s glad he does.

The kitchen fills with smoke as he begins searing the steaks, super hot in a cast iron skillet. Brian glances up for a vent option, and suddenly Kris is by his side, pressing a little discreet button. The oven hood roars to life, sucking in the smoke. “Looks good,” Kris says, trailing a hand down his spine. His fingers are cold from the gin and tonic, the ice condensing outside of the glass, and Brian can feel goosebumps pricking. Kris’ hand doesn’t stop, going past the base of his spine to span across his ass, and then dipping down to press against the plug, like he’s making sure it’s still there.

It’s certainly not the first thing Brian's ever had in his ass, but it’s his first experience with a plug. Walking around with it has been unique. Sometimes he can almost forget it’s there, but then he bends over to check on the food and he can feel it, splitting him open, intimately nestled inside. The promise of what’s to come later, pulled out and replaced by Kris. The idea that Kris will be able to slide in, and Brian will be already wet and open and ready for him… “I’ll burn these,” he warns, distracted by the touch.

“You’ll do no such thing,” Kris rebukes, mildly. “You’ll pay attention to your work even while I play with you.”

Kris jolts the plug right up against his prostate, and he gasps, gritting his teeth. “Yes. Oui. Maître,” he manages to get out, and then the steaks are done, shit - maybe a little past done if Kris wanted it under medium rare. They’ll just have to do; Brian removes them from the hot pan, sets them under aluminum foil to rest, and indicates the two dinner plates he set out. “Okay, everything is done, Maître. It’s all plated, you just need to put the steaks on them."

“Just need one plate. You’ll eat from mine,” Kris says. “Go kneel in the living room, chaton. Take off that apron. Pick a pillow and wait for me.”

Brian murmurs an acknowledgement; he can hear Kris pulling up a video on his phone, jumping around to the parts he wants to re-acquaint himself with. Getting on his knees and waiting allows him some time to mull the new nickname in his head. _Chaton - kitten._ God, of all things. Then again, in his fantasies, he usually had the imaginary mistress calling him ‘pet’, so what’s so different about kitten?

Still, he’d much rather be puppy, if he had to be something. He did pick it, though, and Kris gave him this nickname. His _Dom_ gave him a special nickname, who is he to pout about that? He’s not sold on it yet, but he’ll accept it.

Kris slides in behind him, evidently done with his video. “Arms straight down,” he commands, and Brian obeys instantly. To his surprise, Kris doesn’t pull the instructions back up. He’s doing this from memory, and that’s interesting. It means he put enough effort in to memorize this.

The tie this time is right above his elbows, crossing behind his back and effectively locking his arms at his sides. It pushes out his chest, too, not in a painful way, but in a way that requires him to sit up a little straighter and not slouch. Maybe that was the whole point, because Kris smooths his hand down his chest once the tie is finished. “Look nice like this,” he says, then changes course and gently pinches his left nipple. “Do you like these played with?”

“Uhhh…” Nobody has ever really played with his nipples; the most that has happened have been playful twists from teammates, and he definitely never liked _that._ Kris’ other hand loops around to play with the other side, both at the same time, and it feels like someone has kicked him in the gut, the arousal coming on fast and hard.

“There’s an answer,” Kris says, because Brian’s suddenly chubbed up, half-hard from the touches. “Although I want to hear you say it.”

“Um. I guess, yes. Uh, Maître.”

“Not good enough,” Kris purrs in his ear, and then he’s pinching and rolling them both between his fingers. Based on the pressure it feels like it should be painful, but it’s not; maybe he’s just too fucking turned on for the pain to register. Kris doesn’t stop, rolling and rolling some more, pinching and playing, until Brian can feel the spit bubbling at the side of his mouth as he pants, like he’s a frenzied animal. “I think you _love_ this. I think you want me to play with these until you cry. I think you’re a little slut for this. Aren’t you, chaton? Come on, say it. Say it before your beautiful steaks get cold.”

“Maître - “

_“Say_ it.”

He slumps down as much as the ropes will allow, Kris never ceasing in his movements. “I’m a slut,” he says. “For this. For you. Your little slut.”

There’s a little jolt in the back of his brain, because he’s not good at dirty talk, it’s always embarrassed him, but the words tumble out without pause. Even more shocking is the terminology; he’s never liked when Doms slap around their subs and call them whores and sluts and bitches, has always found it degrading. But...but he can be _Kris’_ slut, and that’s okay. His and his only.

For tonight, anyway, and maybe a couple more times too.

“Good boy, good chaton, such a good kitten,” Kris praises warmly, like he knew how much that took out of Brian. He pulls his touch away, and Brian can’t help but whine. “Shh now. Dinner first, right? You worked so hard on it.”

Fuck ‘em, let the steaks get cold. He doesn’t say that, though. “Oui, Maître.”

Kris has to help him to his feet, and he staggers a little as he follows. He hadn’t thought he was going into subspace, but he’s a little woozy, and grateful when Kris sets the pillow down by the dining room table and commands him to go down again. It’s easy to kneel there, letting one of the legs of the table hold him steady, the ropes a constant presence as he shifts and fidgets.

The smell of food snaps him out of it as Kris returns with a plate overflowing with food, and Brian realizes he’s _starving._ “Hungry?” Kris asks, and Brian nods eagerly as Kris sits down, starts cutting a piece of the steak - and forks it straight into his mouth. Then a second, and a third. It takes all his willpower to stay silent, although he can feel his pout.

Finally, the fourth forkful gets put in front of his face, and he takes the bite gratefully, pulling it off the utensil. To his delight, it’s not overcooked. Pretty well seasoned, too. Just what he wanted.

Kris makes a thoughtful little hum, cuts a few more chunks off the steak. “Not sure I like that,” he says, almost to himself, eating another bite. “Let’s try this, eh.”

The next bite of steak Brian gets isn’t on a fork; it’s wedged between Kris’ fingers, and Brian has to look up into his face to gauge his seriousness. Kris looks very earnest, though, so he leans forward, grabs the steak gently. His teeth scrape over Kris’ fingers while Kris watches him intently, and it suddenly feels very intimate.

That’s how they eat the rest of the meal; Kris sitting at the table, forking food into his mouth like normal, while Brian kneels at his side, being fed chunks of steak and potatoes and vegetables from Kris’ hand. Occasionally, Kris keeps his fingers against Brian’s lips, and he figures out that’s his cue to suck them clean, twisting his tongue between the digits. Kris eats faster, prioritizing his meal over Brian’s, and when Kris finishes eating he rests one hand on the back of Brian’s head while the other feeds him.

Brian wasn’t sure if he was going to like it, but this here feels so gentle, so affectionate - he labors under no assumptions that Kris loves him, but they’re friends, they care for each other, and Brian sinks into the warm feelings of fondness and of being taken care of. It’s _nice._ Kris’ hand on his head feels grounding, and the only thing that stops him from fully sinking into his headspace is the requirement to pay attention to chewing, not to choke on the food.

“Clean plate,” Kris finally murmurs, and Brian sinks his cheek into Kris’ leg with a sigh. Kris digs his fingers into Brian’s hair, massaging his scalp, and he can feel himself dropping, a happy sort of purr rumbling out of his throat. “See, you are a kitten,” Kris teases.

“Your kitten,” he says, and Kris’ hands pause, and for a moment he’s scared that he’s overstepped. He’s not Kris’, not truly. Only just for the moment, and maybe that was going too far. But then Kris cups his ears, gently pulls his face up to meet his eyes.

“Oui, c’est vrai,” Kris says, and Brian doesn’t understand anything except the _yes,_ but that’s good enough. “Chaton, you want your dessert now?”

Brian didn’t make dessert, but then Kris twists his body so Brian’s in between his legs, and - ah. He takes the initiative, nuzzles his face between Kris’ legs. “Please, Maître,” he says.

“It’s _s'il vous plaît._ ‘Please’. Say it.”

“S'il vous plaît,” he says, _see voo play_ about the best he can do, and Kris clicks his tongue and shakes his head, but unzips his shorts. He’s not wearing any underwear; his cock pops out, already half-hard and obscene against the fabric. Brian leans forward to suck it, but Kris stops him.

“Say it again.”

“S'il vous plaît, Maître.”

“Hopefully your mouth is better at sucking dick than speaking French,” Kris smirks, but lets him go. Challenge accepted, he thinks, scooting forward a little more to take it into his mouth.

Kris doesn’t push this time, doesn’t fuck his face, just lets him do as he pleases. It’s a little awkward with his arms bound to his sides, but he wants to be good, wants to show his enthusiasm, so he takes as much as he can, pushing himself to the limit until he gags and chokes; then back on for more until he’s a mess, enough spit that soaks his beard and rolls down his neck. Kris curses and his hips twitch, and he pushes Brian’s face away.

“Tempting,” he says. “But I plugged you for a reason, and it would be a shame to have that go to waste. Come on.”

Kris steps out of his shorts when he stands, his shirt following a moment later, and he leads Brian down the hallway, looking carefree and not desperate at all, not like how Brian feels. He’s not even walking funny, like Brian is pretty sure he is with his dick about as hard as it’s ever been and a plug up his ass.

They turn back into the playroom, and Kris strides over to a weird, curvy looking chair that Brian didn’t notice last time. It’s like a chaise lounge kind of thing, black leather - pleather? - and looks like an ocean wave. Kris tumbles onto it, his hips resting in the dip of the wave, and it’s suddenly very obvious that it is furniture expressly for fucking. There is a large, full-length mirror next to it, and Kris beckons him over. “Come here, see how nice you look, all tied up for me.”

It’s a strange experience to see himself in the mirror, flushed and hard and a little sweaty, arms stuck at his sides. Usually he doesn’t examine himself when he’s in this state, too busy in bed with someone to stare at what he looks like. Every flaw seems magnified when he’s next to Kris. “Do you think I look nice?”

“I think you’ll look nicer when you’re riding my cock. Bend over for me, chaton, let me get that plug out.”

Bending over, he can see the ropes wrapped just above his elbows, binding them together. They’re black, a dark smudge against his pale skin, and he keeps watching as Kris grasps the base of the plug and pulls, slowly, _slowly_ \- slow enough that it must be a deliberate tease. Brian can feel the plug splitting him open as it pulls out, every single inch, and then it’s gone, just an empty feeling, clenching on nothing. He must gasp, because Kris clicks his tongue. “I know, I know, too empty. Soon,” he says, twisting his body to reach a nearby nightstand with lube and condoms. Brian watches, breathing hard, as Kris gloves up, strokes some more lube onto himself, then pats his thigh. “You’re going to come ride me. Face the mirror, so I can see your ass and watch your face at the same time.”

Brian licks his lips, flexes his shoulders. “Don’t I need my hands for that?”

“I’ll hold you steady. You’re just going to need to work for it a little bit, eh?”

He’s not as graceful as Kris at anything, so Brian’s not entirely sure this is going to work, but he steps one foot over the couch anyway so he’s hovering over Kris’ dick. “I’ll help,” Kris soothes, so he lowers himself slowly until Kris snags his hips, firm hands guiding him to exactly where Kris wants. He pauses for a moment, can feel - can _see_, in the mirror, Kris lining himself up, and his thighs are already starting to shake a little from holding himself up with no arms. “That’s it,” Kris says, pulling him down onto his cock, and he sinks down so easily, not even a hint of pain as Kris splits him open. Just a comforting fullness that he didn’t know he missed until the plug was pulled out.

“Maître,” he gasps, sitting on Kris’ lap.

“See, what I tell you? So wet and open for me.” Kris’ hands tighten on his hips until they’re almost painful. “I got you, come on. Don’t make me do all the work, now.”

Brian plants his feet on the floor, lifts up just a little, sinks back down with a groan, does it again and again. His pleasure is tempered by the ache, legs already burning from the effort. He wants to hang on, to hold on to something, to slam himself down instead of this slow up and down ride that is currently the best he can manage. He’s about to complain, but a quick glance in the mirror dies any negative comments off his lips. Kris is sprawled back, and his loose limbs are the picture of control and casualness, but his eyes...he’s staring down at where they meet, watching with a - _hunger,_ is probably the best adjective. It makes him whimper, drops him down a little into his headspace. Nobody’s ever looked at him like this before.

“Come here,” Kris growls, and tugs him backwards. With no arms free he’s forced to go, until his back is pressed to Kris’ chest. There’s a sudden probing at his entrance, and in the mirror Brian can see Kris’ hand there. “You like to be full, mmm? Want more?”

Two of Kris’ fingertips slide in, right next to his dick, and Brian whines, tossing his head back to rest against Kris’ shoulder. Just two tiny fingertips, but they feel overwhelming. “God,” he whispers to the ceiling.

“Such a good boy, taking what I give you,” Kris says, fingers sliding higher, up to the knuckle, and Brian’s not sure he’s ever been so full in his life. He drops hard, nestled against Kris, the feel and smell of him, tied up and helpless.

“Whatever you want,” he whimpers, and just like last time he means it. Whatever Maître wants, he can take, he can take it and be good.

“That’s right,” Kris growls, and pulls out his fingers, shoving him forward. The curve of the couch catches him, and now he’s tilted towards the mirror, staring at it as Kris sets his feet and fucks up into him. There’s no more casual; Kris is in control, and he’s taking what he wants, hammering hard. He’s beautiful like this, hair mussed and spiky, the muscles in his legs flexing as he thrusts, sweat rolling down his stomach. He’s as intent and focused as he ever is on the ice and Brian can’t believe he gets this, gets to watch Kris’ jaw clench as he comes, hips stuttering, feet slipping a little on the floor.

He catches himself making an unhappy noise as Kris gently pulls him up, enough that Kris can slip out, reach around to take off and cast off the condom. He’s still hard, although that longing to get off seems a little far away right now, disconnected. Kris maneuvers them until Brian is settled back against him again, hooking his chin over Brian’s shoulder to watch in the mirror. “You want to get off now, chaton?”

“If you want, Maître,” he murmurs, blinking slow at their reflection. They fit nicely together, although that’s not something he allows himself to dwell on. It's probably just that _Kris_ looks nice, would look nice with anyone.

Kris mouths at the soft skin right below his jaw, and he shudders. “I do want,” he says. “I want you to watch, though. Watch while I play with you. Watch what I do to you.”

Brian swallows, nods, tries to keep his eyes glued to the mirror while Kris cups his hand around his dick, squeezes a little before he starts stroking. His arm is all dark tattoos, a contrast against Brian’s pale skin, and the need to come roars back to life, enough that he starts trembling a little. “Please,” he mutters.

“Ah.” Kris’ hand pauses. “What’s that in French?”

The phrase is gone from his mind, _everything_ is gone from his mind except Kris’ hand, and he shakes his head. “I don’t remember.”

“Yes you do. Think.”

“Can’t think,” he mumbles, feeling delirious with it now. _“Please,_ Maître.”

“Think,” Kris commands, a low growl, and the hand on his dick stays still but Kris’ other hand circles around and then there are two fingers plunged deep inside him, still so slick from the lube. “Think harder, or I’ll finger fuck you until you forget English and then maybe you'll remember the French. Or should I play with your nipples more, maybe? Repeat it from earlier?"

“Maître,” he pleads, tears starting to burn at his eyes, and he turns his face to bury it in Kris’ hair.

Kris pulls the hand off his dick, grabs Brian’s chin, tilts it back towards the mirror. “I said watch. Now _think,_ chaton. You can do it. I know you can.”

He thinks back to every French phrase he’s ever learned as Kris starts pumping his fingers slowly. The image in the mirror gets a little blurry through the tears, and the only phrase he can think of is _sacre bleu,_ which is wrong and useless to him now.

“I believe in you,” Kris whispers in his ear, fingers curling in on his prostate, and suddenly it pops in his head, fully formed, out of nowhere.

“S'il vous plaît,” he cries out loudly. “S'il vous plaît!”

Kris grins. “That’s my boy,” he says, and he sounds..._proud,_ and the pleasure coursing through his limbs isn’t just from the hand on his dick, stroking now, or the fingers inside him, pumping at the perfect pace. He did it, _he did it,_ he deserves this orgasm, and he makes sure to keep watching - just like he was ordered to - as his body lets go, spills messy up over his stomach, onto Kris’ hand.

Kris slips his fingers out, gently pats his hip as he pants, boneless in Kris’ lap. “I knew you could,” he says, but Brian’s still too zoned out to respond, lets his head loll back on Kris’ shoulder as he recovers.

When he comes back - he’s got no clue how long it’s been, five minutes, fifteen, longer - Kris is gently stroking his side, from arm to hip, looking contemplative. “Ready to get out of those ropes?” he asks, and Brian nods, licking his suddenly dry lips. “And we need to talk, yes?”

“Yeah,” Brian says, voice sounding rough. “Need some water.”

“What else you want?”

“To cuddle,” he blurts out, before he can stop himself. Apparently, his mind has already decided what aftercare he wants.

Kris looks surprised. “Oh. Cuddle?” For a moment Brian is terrified that he’s going to refuse, but then he nods. “We’ll cuddle,” he declares with some finality. “Come on. Let’s go.”


	10. Chapter 10

It’s still a surprise for Kris to see Brian so exhausted and conked out after sex. It’s like he’s trying to put himself back together, mentally and physically, from what just happened; he stays where Kris puts him, pushed forward against the chair while Kris unties the ropes. Kris can feel his back rolling up and down from his still-elevated breathing, can feel a slight tremor to his limbs as he unties his arms. He’s wrecked, and Kris would be lying if he said that didn’t please him a little bit.

The final rope unwinds itself from Brian’s arms, and he lets it fall to the floor and coil. “Come on,” he says, gently urging Brian to his feet. He staggers a little, but follows Kris over to the bed. “Sit,” Kris commands, an order which Brian obeys instantly. “I’ll get you some water.”

“Thanks, Ma - uh - Tanger.”

“Either, for now,” Kris says, smoothing his thumb over Brian’s jaw, and he’s met with a dopey, grateful grin. Kris will never complain about being called _Maître_; he knows it shouldn’t be done outside of a scene, for both their sakes, but Brian’s still not out of his headspace yet. It’s always a nice ego boost, though. Maître. Master. How could he not enjoy _that?_

Kris retrieves two cold bottles of water and then, after a brief hesitation, two of his secret stash of popsicles from a local specialty shop. He’s got a terrible sweet tooth, one he doesn’t let himself indulge in too often, but he’s already worked out twice today. Three times if you count the sex, so he thinks he deserves it.

Brian is curled on the bed when he comes in, but he brightens up when Kris enters, probably because he sees the treats. “Chocolate brownie, or strawberry cream?” Kris asks.

“Which do you like best?”

“I like them both,” he hedges, setting the waters on the nightstand. Brian grabs his immediately, twists off the top and gulps it down, the entire thing disappearing down his throat in a flash. “Jesus, Dumo. Uh, if I had to pick, the chocolate.”

“I’ll take the strawberry then,” Brian says, no hesitation, and grins. “Hey, you’ve seen what I can do with a beer. Don’t act too surprised.”

Kris gives a mock sigh, slides onto the bed. “Frat boys,” he says, handing over the treat.

“What can I say, college was a good time. Thanks.” Brian takes a few licks on the pop, watches Kris as he settles back against the pillows, and hesitates. Kris can see the indecision in the rigid line of his back, and holds his arms open with a sigh.

“You wanted to cuddle,” he says, and Brian goes soft and pliant, immediately curls into his arms.

“Thanks,” he mumbles, and his mouth is already cherry-red with the popsicle, his breath a sweet puff of air. Kris watches him suck on it, the way his mouth forms an ‘o’ around the treat, and can’t help but think of his dick there instead, the way it stretched Brian’s mouth, the same look of pleasure on his face.

Kris, because he’s impatient, simply takes a bite out of his, lopping off the entire top. “I read about aftercare,” he says. “Did you not need it last time? Or were you afraid to ask or something?”

“I didn’t…” Brian licks his mouth. “I didn’t feel like I should have needed it. But I guess I did. And I didn’t want to impose.”

“Impose?” Kris isn’t familiar with the word.

“Uh…” Brian squeezes his eyes shut, searching for the definition. “Like. Bother you.”

_“Bother_ me. Oh yes, eating a popsicle with a hot boy draped on me is such a...what is it? Such an impose.”

“Imposition,” Brian mutters.

“Whatever. You’re not afraid to tell me what you need on the ice, eh? Think about how good we communicate there.”

“It’s - it’s different.”

“Is it?” Kris catches Brian’s jaw before he can take another lick of the popsicle, forces Brian to look at him. “Is it because you know how good you are on the ice that you can speak up? You can be confident in your abilities playing hockey, but not here, so you think I should just know what you need, better than you do?”

Brian pinks up, tries to pull his jaw away, but Kris won’t let him. “I don’t _know_ what I need,” he says. “Okay? This is - this is all new to me. I’m not like an expert. And look, why should I even need aftercare? Aftercare is supposed to be the soft, touchy feely stuff after you get spanked and choked and whipped. But I don’t like any of that. What I want during a scene is so soft anyway. Why should I need more of it after?”

There’s red running down Brian’s knuckles, the strawberry melting, and Kris leans down, sucks the sweet off his skin. He’s not sure why he does it, but when he looks back up, Brian is staring at him with wide eyes. “Dumo, that first time, I fucked your mouth until your voice went, and then I fucked your ass about as hard as I ever fucked anyone. I don’t usually go so hard with men. Women, yes, they can take it hard, but with men you gotta be careful. But you begged for it. Just because I’m not beating you up doesn’t mean it’s _soft_. And even if it is, who cares? You need what you need. It takes a lot, I would think, to let go and submit. Even if that’s what you’re into. A lot of trust.”

Brian eats the rest of his dessert, eyes down and quiet, obviously thinking about Kris’ words. “I do trust you, Tanger,” he says, quietly. “You’re my partner. Of course I do.”

“My partner,” Kris echoes, because that’s exactly what they are, defensive partners on the ice. He laces his fingers with Brian’s, eats the rest of his own popsicle while Brian sets his head on his shoulder, his breath tickling Kris’ collarbone. When he’s finished, he cups Brian’s face again, listens to the quiet and content rumble in the back of his throat. “You want to give up control, I will take it happily. But you tell me what you need from here out. That’s not optional.”

“Oui, Maître,” Brian says, then tilts his head up with a frown. “From here on out? How long do you want to do this?”

That’s something Kris has been thinking about; he _should_ probably leave it where it is, but his express rule about only hooking up once doesn’t seem to apply in this situation. Brian’s a teammate, and Kris trusts him to keep it professional when it counts. Plus, for the first time since he can remember, Kris is getting something out of this that he has never gotten anywhere else. Is he really going to turn down a homecooked meal and then interesting, kinky sex? “I go on vacation in three weeks, then I’m back in Montreal the rest of the summer. How about you?”

“Vacation in about two weeks. I’m back here for a day or two and then I head to Boston.”

“So there’s a good answer. Two weeks more, until you leave. Then we see each other at camp like we normally do, and we’re back to teammates.”

“Right. Cool.” Brian throws his leg over Kris’ hip, the long line of his body pressing closer. “So uh, what did you think of dinner tonight?”

Kris curls his arms around Brian’s shoulders. For all Brian’s weight resting on Kris, he’s not heavy, not even too warm like most people are. “Oh, the steak was great. Cooked perfect. But you mean the feeding, don’t you.”

“Uh huh.”

Kris strokes his hand over Brian’s side, the sharp jut of his hip, considering. He’d been proud of the suggestion, proud that he’d come up with something that he expected Brian to really like, and had been stung when Brian had been skeptical. God knows he hadn’t expected to get much out of it himself, but he definitely didn’t hate it. Did he like it?

He _did_ like it, he’s forced to admit, but he’s not sure why. He liked seeing Brian’s enjoyment, and that’s probably all it is. What else could it be? “If you liked it, I liked it,” he says.

Brian huffs a laugh. “Really? It just doesn’t seem your style.”

“What, you think I don’t like pleasuring my sexual partners? I’ll have you know, people don’t leave my bed with complaints.”

“It wasn’t really your bed, though. Like, not sex.”

“Still part of the scene.” Kris glides his hand further down Brian’s thigh, his body hair wiry against his palm. “Gotta do the apology right.”

“Wait, what?” Brian sits up, and Kris realizes that he’s said a little too much. “What the hell does that mean? Apology? For what?”

“I mean - “ Kris hesitates, but he’s in too deep now, so he continues. “I was kind of uh. A jerk, this season. Well, mostly at the end, in the playoffs,” Kris says. Brian shakes his head at that, and for a moment Kris wonders if it all was real. If Brian didn’t think he was an asshole, was Kris’ behavior really so bad? But he knows it was. “You don’t need to sugar coat it, I know.”

“You’re just..._passionate_, Tanger,” he says. “I don’t take any of that shit during a game personal. What we say and when we disagree, I don’t take it off the ice. You can tell me that I made an awful defensive read and I can tell you that you’re full of shit, but I love you just the same when we’re back in the locker room.”

Kris isn’t exactly sure he deserves that unconditional friendship, and there’s a strange lump that appears in his throat. He reaches over and opens his water, drinks to clear it up, offers the rest to Brian. “Don’t know I deserve it, but thanks.”

“Fuck off with that. Don’t _deserve_ it? Come on. You’re great.” Just like the last bottle, Brian drains the rest in two seconds flat. He’s smirking when he finishes. “I mean, most of the time. You could have just used your words and said sorry if you felt so bad, you know. Anyway, this means next season I can definitely call you asshole a little more often?”

“When I’m being an asshole, sure.”

“So like, every day.” From Brian’s tone it’s clear he’s teasing, and Kris scoffs, knocking the empty bottle out of Brian’s hands and grabbing him around the waist, playfully trying to pin him to the bed. They roll around for a moment, wrestling and laughing, and it’s no time flat before they’re both panting and exhausted, squeezed next to each other, still tired from the sex. “Asshole,” Brian teases, and Kris nips his shoulder, drawing a squeak.

“Keep it up,” he warns. “I think of fun punishments for next time.”

“Funishments is what they’re called,” Brian helpfully supplies, but he’s starting to frown now. “But hey, I gotta ask. If this was an apology...the whole feeding thing, right...does that mean it was a one-time thing?”

“Don’t know I want to do it every time, but I promise we do it again before you leave, if you liked it.”

Brian nods. “Yeah. I did. Okay. Great. And I meant what I said earlier, you know? I love every guy in the locker room, and that includes you. But there’s something special about d-partners, you know? And I’m glad you’re mine.”

“Sure. Me too.” This talk about love and friendship is getting _way_ too sentimental for Kris, so he leans down next to Brian’s ear. “Anyway, you talk about what you like? Let me tell you what _I_ like,” he says. “Why don’t you take that plug with you. And next time you come over, you can have it in. You’ll undress and there it will be, all shiny, and I’ll know you were a good boy and got ready for me.”

Brian bites his lip, gaze going hot. “Yeah, I can, um. Yeah. I can do that.”

“And you know, I just got tested,” Kris purrs, brushing a thumb over his nipple. He can practically _see_ the shift in Brian’s brain, from ‘Dumo’ to ‘chaton’, and he forces himself to stop, not wanting to bring Brian back there yet. “Wouldn’t it be nice if you got tested, too. If we’re both clean, then I can fuck you raw, come inside you and plug you up. Keep you fucking _filled_ with that plug in your ass.”

Brian’s half-chubbed up again, although he’s at least with it enough to ask a rather sensible question: “Does this mean you’re not going to fuck anyone else for the next two weeks?”

That’s only fair, Kris supposes. It’s been _ages_ since Kris fucked anyone bare, was with anyone he trusted enough to not use protection, so the trade off is well worth it. “Just you.”

“Okay. Well, I actually just got tested too. One of the first things I did after - well, you know, _him._ I think we were safe, but I was pretty out of it. Should have my results back in a few days.”

“Perfect.” He deliberately ignores the unspoken name of _Tom Wilson_ between them, because otherwise it’s going to bother him and ruin a perfectly good night. “One more thing we have to talk about. This.” He circles his fingers around Brian’s cock, which has flagged with their conversation, but jumps in his hand at the touch.

“Uh - my dick?”

“You said earlier. If I didn’t want you to come…”

“Ah,” Brian says, and he looks a bit less confident in that statement now than he did before. “Yeah, about that. I mean that’s always been a little fantasy, like tied up and used and not even able to get off, but I dunno, I’m pretty sure it’s hotter as a fantasy than real life. I don’t know if I’d like it.”

“You’re sure?”

“I mean, I think.” Brian hums, thinking, then amends: “Tell you what. If I’m ever _bad_, you can use it as a punishment option. Not that I want to be bad, mind you. But if I am.”

That’s a challenge if Kris ever heard one, and his sudden new and singular goal is to find Brian’s limits, and see how he can stretch them. “Maybe from now on you’ll need to work a little harder at being _good,”_ Kris tells him. “Not so easy after this. What do you think?”

Brian chews on his mouth, considering. “I wanna be good,” he says. “But I don’t want it to be _easy,_ necessarily. So as long as you’re still considering all my hard limits about pain and stuff - okay, yeah. Bring it on.”

Kris ruffles his hair, and Brian laughs, and they lay there for a little while longer together quietly. There’s no music playing, no television to watch, and normally Kris gets bored of just cuddling, but not tonight. He listens to their steady in-and-out breathing, lets the heat of Brian’s body warm him in his air-conditioned house. He plays with the fine hairs on the back of Brian’s neck, feels the low bass of his happy groans through his core, and thinks about the next two weeks, everything he’s going to do to Brian, everything they’re going to do _together._

“I should go,” Brian murmurs, starting to sit up, face pinched in regret. “Gotta walk Roo, and Shears and I are working out tomorrow morning and then getting brunch. Tomorrow’s, uh, it’s pretty busy, but the next day…?”

“Next day, yes. Come make me breakfast, and then we’ll see how good you can be.”

Brian grins. “I make a pretty good egg, I gotta say.”

“We’ll see. Tell Conor I said hi. And don’t forget this,” he says, waving at the plug. He should probably clean it, but - whatever. Brian can do that himself. It’s his fluids all over it, anyway.

“How could I forget,” he says, picking it up gingerly, and then he’s gone. Kris can hear him collecting his clothes, redressing, shuffling about the house; the front door shuts, the silence stretches on as he lays there staring at the ceiling. He stays there until the warmth from Brian’s body heat is all but gone, then he drags himself out of bed with a grunt.

He needs a shower.


	11. Chapter 11

Brian gets his STD test results back the next day, right in the middle of wind sprints with Shears, which he is absolutely dominating. Never mind that he’s 6’4 and Conor is, charitably, 5’8 (or so the media guide says); Brian refuses to hear that his longer legs give him an advantage, and he makes fun of Conor mercilessly. He can hear his phone going off, loud in the tiny local gym they’ve taken over, but he lets it go to voicemail.

_Clean,_ is the message he gets after they’re done working out, and he huffs a sigh of relief, starting to strip off his sweaty clothes for a shower.

“Congrats, you don’t have syphilis,” Shears says dryly, already naked and rooting around for a towel in his locker.

“Hey,” Brian yelps. “You’re not supposed to listen in.”

Conor gives him a look. “Not like I could help it! You have your phone volume turned up to like, ten. You’re practically on speakerphone, man. Anyway, you know that you’d still be my bro even if you had herpes or whatever. I’d just keep that in mind next time you’re drunk and eyeing me up.”

“I would fucking never.”

“Mmhm,” Shears hums with a smirk, closing his locker with a bang. “Your picky ass is gonna be alone at forty, and we’ll be retired, and you’ll get drunk and be sad about being alone, and you’re gonna beg for it. And you know what, buddy? I’ll give it to you. The best you ever had, legit.”

Brian pretends to gag, giving Conor a gentle shove as they head into the shower. “I’ve seen you naked. Like, right now. Hard pass,” he says, as Shears playfully wiggles his ass at him. “Besides, I’m not _picky.”_

“Like hell you aren’t, I’ve seen a hundred people hit on you and you turn 99 down. And how many times have you dated someone for more than, like, a month?”

Conor...has somewhat of a point, unfortunately. Brian isn’t opposed to casual hookups, but he’s not in college anymore, where he just wanted to get off pretty much any second of the day, and was happy to go through a string of vanilla partners. He’s 26 years old now, a little more discerning, and he knows what he wants. He just hasn’t found that person yet, so what’s the point of going through a long relationship if it’s not what he's looking for?

“Although,” Conor says, “maybe it’s different now? There’s gotta be a reason you’re getting tested, right? Someone special? You been holding out on me?”

Shears might be one of his best friends, but damned if Brian is going to tell him about Wilson. “I just try and get tested every couple months, is all.”

“Uh huh.”

Brian is an awful fucking liar, and he knows it. “Okay, that thing with Tanger? We decided to keep it going until I leave for vacay. So, you know.” There - maybe that will be juicy enough gossip to keep Conor off his back.

Shears nearly drops the shampoo bottle he’s holding. “Are you fucking serious? Is _he _getting tested?”

“Yes?”

“Holy _shit.” _ This seems to have broken Conor’s brain, because he stares at the wall while he shampoos his hair, blinking a few times, expression blank. Finally once the shampoo is rinsed down the drain, he seems to have gotten enough brain cells back to turn to Brian and demand, “I have to fucking know what weird kink you’re into that’s enough to keep Tanger interested.”

Brian grunts, ducking under one of the showerheads, letting the water sluice down his body. The gym’s locker room is not built for people as tall as he is. “Why does it have to be anything?”

“Oh, don’t act like your asshole is magical. Tanger can get pretty much any hole he wants, anywhere. _Ergo_, there’s something you’re bringing to the table that nobody else is.”

Well, that’s certainly a visual right there. Brian shuts off the showerhead, shakes his head off like a dog, spraying water all over Conor, who squawks. “Okay, fine. It is something. But like hell I’m giving you details. It’s nothing _super _weird or gross, like no body fluids, but that’s all I’m giving you.”

“It all makes sense now,” Conor says, excitement ramping up as he grabs his towel. “Why you’re so picky! You’re trying to find someone into your weird kinky stuff. Oh my god - “ Conor’s face falls suddenly, and he looks stricken. “You’re gonna fall in love with Tanger. Oh my god you’re already in love with him, aren’t you.”

“What?! No!”

“Shit, and you’re gonna get _hurt, _because it’s Tanger, and the locker room will be weird next year, and - “

“Shears. Conor.” Brian takes advantage of his size, grabs Conor’s shoulder to turn him so they’re facing each other, looking him in the eye. “I’m not in love with Tanger. I’m not _going _to fall in love with Tanger. He’s not...he’s not boyfriend material, okay? Yeah, the sex is good. But you know me, I’m a romantic. There’s way more to a relationship than good sex.”

“Nobody ever accused Tanger of being a _romantic.”_

“Exactly,” Brian insists. “So I’ll be fine.”

And he believes it. He _does_ love Tanger; what he told Kris yesterday wasn’t a lie. But it’s not romantic love. Maybe he had a little crush on Tanger as a rookie, but who doesn’t? Hell, he had a crush on Sid, too. Brian’s grown up since then, no longer harboring little infatuations on the team's veterans. He knows what he wants, and even though Tanger fulfills half of that equation - really, really good kinky sex - there’s an entire other half out there that Tanger can’t do, _won’t_ do, the romantic and sweet and caring portion. That part is just as important.

By the time he dries off, he’s got a notification on his phone from Kris. _Let’s move our tryst to Friday, _it says. _ I get test results back Thurs night._

Then: _You remember what you have to bring_

_Oui Maitre,_ he responds back in a text, carefully hiding his phone from Conor.

_Maître, _comes the immediate response. _ Use the accent_

Ah, shit.

How the fuck does he do accents on his phone?


	12. Chapter 12

Although Kris decided not to proactively message anyone when he made his FetLife profile, turns out he didn’t need to. He doesn’t have his face in his profile - well, not his entire face - it’s one of those professional photos of him in his suit, just a body shot, but he knows it looks good. It doesn’t take long for people to find him, not when he’s expressed interest in hooking up.

There’s a surprising amount of messages from Doms asking if he’d consider trying to switch, try out subbing, and he deletes them all. Kris thinks about Brian on his knees, head bowed, laying himself out bare and vulnerable, and he knows it’s not for him. In fact, the very idea just makes him anxious. And to do that with a _stranger?_

Maybe he sees now what Brian’s hesitation is with finding random partners to sub for. It’s an intimate thing Brian does; every time they’ve been together, it seems to leave him scooped out and raw, broken in the best way. He needs to trust someone to put him back together. Kris hasn’t forgotten the difference in Brian’s gait, his expression, his overall self when he received aftercare versus when he did not.

Kris wants to make sure he always, always puts Brian back together again.

Unlike the Doms who reach out to him, most of the subs are more respectful, and in fact most of them don’t even lead off with talking about sex. They ask personal questions, seem to want to get to know him, and Kris supposes that’s fair. It’s worthwhile to see what kind of person a Dom is before allowing them to tie you up.

There is one message he finds particularly intriguing, a beautiful woman in Montreal, her message in French. In her profile picture, she is tied up with extensive ropework that must have taken _hours_ to complete, and she is dangling a few feet off the floor from some unseen attach point. Her long black hair cascades down, and one asscheek is visible, vivid red from what he presumes is a spanking of some sort. In her message, she talks a little about herself, asks about him, but ultimately gets straight to the point:

_You mentioned in your profile that you’re new to Domming and will be in Montreal soon. I’d love to hear your experience, a little more about what you think your kinks are. My Sir likes teaching newer Doms and showing them exactly how to use me. With the right person, He likes to share and loan me out. I can get you in touch with Him if you’re interested._

Sharing? Kris has been in a hundred threesomes before (and hell, more than one orgy), but never quite like this. Her Dom is easy to find, right from her profile, and Kris’ eyebrows arch up into his hairline. He stands tall in his profile picture, shirtless, covered in tattoos and fairly built. He’s wearing a leather harness and holding an intimidating looking flogger. Even if Kris didn’t see his FetLife profile, he’d be easy to peg as a Dom. Hell, even if Kris saw him in plain clothes walking down the street, he might be able to figure it out.

He hovers his finger above the button to reply. It’s less than two weeks till Dumo goes on vacation and this whole thing ends; now he needs to determine whether this BDSM thing was just a one-off fling or whether he’d like to pursue it further. He doesn’t know much about the community, but he figures it’s probably not every day that a mentorship opportunity with a beautiful couple just falls into your lap. He could just delete this, delete his entire FetLife profile, and fuck his way around Montreal like he typically does, men and women lining up to do whatever Kris wants. Or he could respond, admit he’s new, admit he needs help - ugh - and let these two take him on a journey.

He thinks about Brian, on his knees, eyes glassy with pleasure, looking up at Kris like Kris is his entire world. Like Kris is a _god._

He thinks about Brian, begging, pleading, calling him Master.

He thinks about the satisfaction he got when that first rope tie was finally done correctly, Brian on his knees helpless - no. No, not _helpless. _ Just the opposite, in fact, because he could safeword any time he pleased, he was willingly giving that power to Kris, a kind of gift he never realized was so arousing. He could have that again, have it with others. 

Kris pushes the button to reply. _Let me tell you about myself, _he starts.


	13. Chapter 13

Brian gets the text from Kris that his test results are good, too. They’re both clean, which means they get to fuck bareback. Brian’s around for almost two weeks more and Kris has promised to be exclusive during that time; he believes Kris 100%, although he’s still a bit surprised by Kris’ willingness to do so. He figured Kris was enjoying the novelty of domination based on his reactions, but that’s a validation he never thought he’d get.

It’s an early wake up call the next day. Kris had texted him an arrival time, and damned if he’s not going to be prompt and on-time, which means he needs to wake up early, drag a grumpy Roo around for a morning walk, shave and brush his teeth, and of course there’s the small matter of the butt plug as well. It feels odd to have his fingers inside him so early in the morning, the earliest rays of light turning the room a dull grey as he scissors and pumps them, trying to open himself up. He’s never been a morning person.

He doesn’t hate it, though. Even here - alone, in his bedroom, Roo huffing at the door for breakfast - he can settle into a submissive headspace, knowing he’s doing this for his Master - no, his _Maître._ Temporary Maître, but Maître still. It gives him hope for a relationship, that he can be on the road with the Penguins and still be submissive to whatever Dom or Domme he hopefully gets together with in the future. Long distance submission isn’t as good as in-person, but all in all it’s not bad.

Finally, he’s open enough that he can lube up the plug and slide it in, the bulb stretching him until it slips past the rim and sinks inside. Brian groans, grits his teeth; he’s mostly hard now, and he brushes his palm against his cock, considering. Maître didn’t say he _couldn’t _jerk off…

“No,” he sighs, rolling off the bed with a burst of willpower and snagging his clothes, tucking himself into a pair of boxers. It wasn’t explicitly said, but Brian can read between the lines. On days he’s meeting with Maître, Brian’s orgasm should belong to him.

The ride to Kris’ is only about twenty minutes, but he spends the whole time amped up, singing along to music just to have something to occupy himself, his fingers drumming against the steering wheel. His brain is still protesting that it didn’t get off when he was so close, and there’s an element of frustration, especially as every bump in the road jostles the plug inside him, revving him up even more. Not to mention he’s dealing with some healthy nerves. Today, he’s probably going to get challenged. He wants to be good, but he knows Maître won’t make it easy. Kris is an expert at not making things _easy._

So he takes three minutes to sit in Kris’ driveway when he arrives, breathing deeply, eyes closed, getting into the right mindset. He’s a good kitten, he tells himself. A good chaton, a submissive little pet, and he clenches the plug inside him and knows it’s true. He’s up to any challenge, and that’s why Maître is so willing to be exclusive with him for two weeks. Maître is in charge, and Brian trusts him to make good judgment calls. And if it gets too much, he’ll just safeword out; he knows Kris will respect it.

“Okay,” he says to himself, feeling a lot calmer, a lot more centered. He heads up the driveway and -

Kris is already in the doorway, arms crossed, one eyebrow delicately raised. Uh oh. What did he do? “Good morning, Maître,” he calls out, bowing his head a little.

“Bon matin,” Kris says. “Or bonjour. That’s how you say ‘good morning’.”

“Bonjour, Maître,” Brian corrects, because he can remember ‘bonjour’. Not that other one, which he’s never heard before.

“Bonjour, chaton,” Kris answers back, stepping aside to let Brian pass through. “I can hear your giant truck from a mile away. Then you just sit out there. Everything’s okay?”

Well, that’s embarrassing. Brian nods sheepishly. “Just getting into the right mindset for today, Maître. I was, um, a little frustrated, because I didn’t get off this morning. I know you didn’t say I couldn’t, but I felt like you probably didn’t want me to.” He remembers the house rules - take off all clothes when he enters the house - so he waits for Kris to close the door before tugging at the hem of his shirt.

“Wait,” Kris says, grabbing his wrist. He’s unreadable for a long moment, but then splits into a smile. “What a good boy. Saving your orgasm for me? That’s just what I want. Maybe you get off, maybe you don’t, but that’s my decision, eh? Now, I know I say you get naked when you come in, but I want bacon this morning and I figure you need clothes for that. I need to check something first, though. Hands at your sides.”

Brian sets his hands down as instructed, and Kris leans dow , unbuckles his belt, pops off the button on his shorts, unzips them. Then he reaches a hand around to Brian’s back and slides his hand down, underneath his boxers. Brian can feel his hand go lower, lower, until it bumps the handle of the plug, and he struggles to stay still.

“There we go,” Kris says. “Very nice, chaton. This is why you were so frustrated? You got this plug inside you and wanted to jerk off? What were you thinking about?”

Brian swallows, face suddenly very warm. He knows Kris is looking for explicit terms here, and Brian’s always felt a little ridiculous saying this kind of stuff out loud. “You,” he says, but of course Kris doesn’t look satisfied at that. “I was thinking of us, today, and how you can fuck me bareback. I want you to, um...I want you to...come inside me. And then plug me back up.”

Kris makes a contemplative noise, pulling his hands out and starting to zip Brian’s shorts back up. “Is that because you don’t want to waste any, want to keep me all to yourself? Or maybe you’re just a secret little come whore that wants his ass filled up.”

Brian can’t help the gasp that escapes, seemingly on its own. Kris is casually filthy with his words, comfortably in a way that Brian can only envy. Secret little come whore? He’s never liked that kind of talk in porn. But here, live and in person, it’s shockingly hot. “Just for you,” he manages to stammer out, and is rewarded with a grin.

“You know, I woke up kind of horny this morning, chaton,” Kris says. “So before breakfast, if you’re such a little come slut for me, why don’t I give you what you really want to eat. I’m going to go read the morning news, and you’re going to suck me off. Don’t worry, I’ll still fuck your sweet ass after breakfast. I know you won’t be satisfied with just one load, eh?”

He nods dumbly, his brain going into a white out at that. God, yes, he wants. “No - uh, yes - “ Shit, what was the question? He squeezes his eyes shut and nods. “S'il vous plaît, maître.”

It’s not a _real _newspaper, not the old fashioned paper kind. Kris reads the news on his iPad; some kind of Quebecois paper Brian gathers from the glimpse of it he caught as he was settling on his knees between Kris’ legs. He’s not even tied up, not a rope in sight, but he looks up at Kris - who is carefully ignoring him, attention directed on his tablet while Brian has Kris’ cock in his mouth - and he feels just as submissive as he did when he was bound. It makes him feel like he’s just a toy for Kris’ sexual gratification, the blowjob so taken for granted that Kris can simply go about his morning routine while Brian works on his dick.

Maybe he’s more into objectification than he originally thought.

He doesn’t drop into subspace, but he still enjoys it, being on his knees, offering his mouth up to Kris. It’s a long, slow blowjob - Kris commands him to slow down a couple of times - but eventually he can feel Kris’ thighs start to quiver, hips start to twitch, and he sets down the iPad and puts his hand on the back of Brian’s neck. “Swallow it all,” he orders. “Not one drop wasted, you hear?”

Brian doesn’t nod, afraid that will disrupt the seal he has on Kris’ dick, just hums his understanding. He groans as the first gush hits his tongue, hot and bitter, and frantically laps it up, heeding Kris’ instructions. Finally, satisfied he’s swallowed it all, he pulls off and sits back on his haunches, looking up at Kris’ face.

“Open up,” Kris says, setting two fingers at his mouth, and he pushes them inside when Brian does, nearly gagging him as they swab around. Kris inspects his fingers carefully when he pulls them out, and smirks when he’s apparently satisfied. “How was breakfast?”

“I wish there was more,” Brian says, truthfully, and Kris laughs.

“See? Secret come slut. Well, you’ll just have to do with eggs and bacon and toast. Ready to make breakfast?”

“Oui, Maître.”

“Let’s go then.” Kris carefully adjusts himself back into his pajama pants, standing back up and helping Brian to his feet. When he smiles at Brian this time, it’s fond and a little soft. “That was my favorite way to start the morning, you know. The best kitten right here,” he says, leaning up to kiss Brian’s jaw before trotting off to the kitchen, apparently unaware the effects those words have.

Brian tries not to melt into the floorboards, following along, smile as bright as the sun peeking through the blinds.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are taking a short break for the holidays and then resuming regular bi-weekly posting in the January time frame. Happy Festivus (or whatever you may celebrate)!
> 
> Also, I forgot to post what I imagine Kris' semi-anonymous FetLife photo would be. [Enjoy!](https://i.imgur.com/Rd7uG7r.jpg)

It’s already a good morning for Kris. He’s got a hot, tasty cup of coffee in front of him; Brian is making him breakfast, and the air already smells like bacon; and of course, he just got off. The bone-deep satisfaction of the orgasm mingles with the pleasure of sitting idle in pajamas while breakfast is being prepared. He could get used to this.

He must lose himself in reading emails, because the next thing he knows there’s another cup of coffee being carefully set in front of him. “Maître,” Brian says softly, almost a question. “Try this, please. Tell me if it’s okay?”

Kris sets down his cup, made from the Keurig because Brian didn’t know how to use the French press. At some point, he must have fiddled around with the press, because Kris can see it on the counter behind Brian, half-full with coffee. How did Brian figure out how to use it? “I Googled it,” he supplies, almost as if reading Kris’ mind, and he looks so _earnest_, so eager to please. It’s kind of adorable, really.

“Did you now,” Kris says, picking up the new cup and taking a sip. No, it’s a touch too bitter; there’s a number of things that could have gone wrong. He shakes his head, and Brian’s hopeful expression falls flat. “No, sorry. Too bitter.”

Brian’s disappointment morphs into a quiet resolve. “Next time, I’ll do better,” he promises. “I’ll look it up before I come.”

“The Keurig is fine, you know - “ Especially since there is a quickly-arriving expiration date to this, Kris doesn’t want Brian to spend the time. But the look on his face tells Kris there will be no arguing. “Okay, okay. If you want.”

“I do want,” Brian says, taking away the offending cup and washing out the press.

The kitchen turns into a sudden flurry of activity; Brian had been waiting on the bacon to cook, a slow process, but now that it’s done Kris watches him expertly crack a few eggs into the pan and whisk, all while keeping an eye on the toaster. It’s organized chaos, and so Kris snags a few plates and some silverware and sets it up while Brian finishes the food.

Brian ends up obviously pleased with the results: perfect fluffy eggs, crispy bacon, avocado smeared on oatey toast and a few cut strawberries. “Do you eat this good at home?” Kris asks, and Brian laughs.

“Usually I just go for a bowl of oatmeal and a protein shake, honestly. It’s too much work for one person.”

“But not too much work for me?”

Brian’s mouth quirks up in a grins. “Not too much work for you, Maître.”

Kris smiles and slides into a chair at the table, watches Brian visibly hesitate, eyes flicking from the empty chair to the pillows in the living room. “At the table today, chaton,” Kris says, patting the chair, and so Brian sits and picks up a fork. He’s just about to stab a bit of egg when Kris smacks his wrist; it’s a gentle slap, but Brian drops the fork, looking startled, and it clatters to the floor with a metallic clank.

“What - “

“You think you get to eat before me?” Kris asks, and Brian’s eyes go wide as he shakes his head. “No? It sure looked like it.”

“I - “ Brian looks at the fork, abandoned on the floor, then back up at Kris. He bites his lip and looks so contrite that Kris almost wants to soothe him - almost. “I’m sorry. Oh, um...je suis, uh...désolé.” The French is still not good. But getting a little better.

Kris leans over, cups Brian’s chin and drags his thumb along the jawline, through his short prickly beard. “Naughty,” he admonishes. “Good kittens wait for their masters, eh?”

“Yes. Oui. I didn’t think - I mean, it won’t happen again.”

“I know it won’t.” Kris gently pats Brian’s cheek and smiles at him, and he relaxes a little, smiling back. Pulling his hand back, Kris grabs a piece of bacon and takes a quick bite. “See, now that isn’t so hard. You can eat.”

“Thank you - wait - _merci!”_ Brian grins at Kris, proud as anything, and Kris laughs and gives a little clap for him.

“Good boy, chaton. You research that all by yourself?”

“Well, I knew it already.” Brian leans down to grab the fork off the floor, but before he can reach it, Kris sets his foot on the utensil. “Uh…”

“I said you could eat. I never said you could use the fork.” Kris shrugs, nudging it away with his foot. “You lost the rights today.”

“You want me to eat with my hands?”

Eating eggs with his fingers is going to be a major pain in the ass, Kris knows, but those are the consequences, and he nods. “If you want a fork, you ask me. I’ll feed you from mine.”

“Okay.” Brian sits back up, surveys his plate, then shrugs and pinches some of the eggs between his fingers, popping them into his mouth and chewing. “Mmm.”

“Good? They look good.” Kris uses a fork for his, but yes; Brian has a knack for cooking, and they’re delicious.

They chat idly at the table, and it would be easy to think of this as a normal meal. Bacon and toast are finger foods, after all. Brian eating the eggs with his fingers is the only outward sign that this breakfast is unusual. Still, the energy around the table thrums with their dynamic; even though Brian is clothed and there’s nothing sexual going on, Kris can practically sense his deference, and in turn he feels...powerful. In control.

An interesting breakfast, indeed.

Brian talks a little about his vacation at Kris’ request. Almost two weeks in the Caribbean, in a huge rented house right on the beach, with eleven of his best friends. “You wouldn’t know anyone except Shears,” he says. “Everyone else is from high school, or juniors, or a few guys from college. But it’s an annual tradition. I missed it the last couple years. Doing something a little more important, right?”

“Winning the Cup?”

Brian beams. “That’s it,” he says, before his smile fades and he pokes at the crust of his toast. “I haven’t watched any hockey since we got eliminated. How about you?”

“A little. For Flower, and Perry,” Kris says. If Fleury or Perron can win it all this year, maybe it won’t be all bad. “But not a lot. It’s hard, you know?”

“Yeah, I know.”

Kris pushes away his plate. “But sounds like you’ll be forgetting all about that on a beach somewhere soon. You hooking up with your buddies?”

Brian crinkles his nose, laughing. “Oh god, no. I don’t hook up with my friends. It’s too awkward. Uh - not that we’re not _friends,_ me and you - just, um…” He trails off, looking at Kris for some help, but Kris decides to let him squirm a little.

“Just what?”

“I just couldn’t say no to you,” Brian says after a long, quiet moment, and something drops to the bottom of Kris’ gut. “But we’ll be good, right? After this is all over, we’ll still be cool?”

“Of course,” Kris says, sliding his hand on top of Brian’s. Brian turns his palm over to squeeze Kris’ hand, and they hold it together for a moment before breaking. There’s a pink flush settling on Brian’s cheeks as he stares down at his plate, just scattered remnants of eggs and toast crust left over. “Finish your breakfast, chaton.”

The crust goes easily into his mouth, but Brian struggles with the eggs as they slip between his fingers, squirting around the plate. He scowls down at them, as if they’ve personally offended him, and Kris finally decides to take pity and scoop them up with a fork, offering it up to Brian. “Thanks,” he murmurs, sliding his mouth forward and locking eyes with Kris.

Brian’s gaze goes hot as he slowly slides his lips over the tines, taking the rest of the egg into his mouth. Kris waits until he’s done chewing to click his tongue, leaning back and eyeing Brian speculatively. “Oh, chaton. What am I going to do with you now?”

“Anything you want, Maître,” Brian murmurs.

“You know I like you to be more specific. I already know that.”

Brian swallows, and Kris watches the column of his throat rise and fall. “I want you to fuck me,” he says, quietly, almost _too_ quietly, like it’s a struggle to get out the words. “I - I’d love to be tied up, too. Tied up so I can’t move, all I can do is take it while you, uh. While you breed me.”

Kris fights to keep a smile off his face. It’s obvious that Brian struggles with dirty talk, and this seems like a big step for him. Not to mention it’s fucking _hot_ when a boy asks you to breed him; Kris can feel the faint stirrings of interest below his belt. “Oh, I’ll breed you alright,” he says. “Pump that load so deep in your ass it doesn’t come out for days. I think I will tie you up, but...not so you can’t move.” Kris smiles, his best predatory smile, and Brian stares at him. “You wanted to be challenged, chaton? Come on then. Let’s go.”

He leaves the dirty plates on the table, and Brian dutifully follows him into the living room. Kris snaps his fingers, pointing at the rug, and is about to speak when Brian makes a soft noise of protest. “Chaton?” Kris asks, and Brian fidgets a moment before speaking.

“I don’t actually...I don’t really like that,” he says. “The snapping, I mean. It feels like, I dunno, like I’m a misbehaving dog or something.”

“Well we don’t want _that,”_ Kris says, stepping up and gently kissing the hinge of his jaw. “You’re no misbehaving dog, you’re my obedient kitten, aren’t you?” Brian nods, and Kris pecks him again. “I’m glad you told me, chaton,” Kris says, and that’s true. “I’ll try not to do it again. No guarantees it won’t slip sometimes, but - I’ll try.”

“That’s all I ask,” Brian says.

“Je suis désolé,” Kris says with one last kiss, a bare brush of his lips against Brian’s chin, and he can see Brian’s gaze go hooded and dark. Kris knows that speaking French is a turn-on for a lot of Americans - Brian, apparently, is no exception.

That could be something exploitable.

He almost forgets, almost snaps his fingers again, but instead gestures at the rug in front of the coffee table. “Get naked, and then I want you sitting on that rug waiting for me like a good boy until I get back. Do you understand?”

“Oui, Maître,” Brian says, and Kris turns away to retrieve a few very important things.

The first is a slim aluminum rod and some extra rope he picked up at the hardware store, along with the shibari rope that they’ve been using on Brian’s limbs. Next is a dildo with a little vibrator in the head. It’s not the biggest he owns, nor is the vibration the strongest, but it’s perfect for what he wants. Finally, he grabs some lube and heads back to the living room.

Brian is sitting cross-legged on the rug when he returns, hands on his knees, looking like an obedient and eager student waiting for his teacher except for the fact that he's naked. Peeking between his legs is the shine of the plug, and Kris sits on the couch across from him and takes him in. “All plugged up and waiting for me,” he muses. “Good look on you. Here.” Kris tosses him the lube and then the vibrator, and Brian catches it out of midair, turning it over in his palm.

“Oh,” he laughs, a little startled, as he accidentally jostles the switch at the bottom and it turns on, merrily buzzing away. “It’s one of these.”

“One of these, yes. So here’s what we’re going to do.” Kris holds up the new rope and the rod, then pulls his iPad over and sets it in front of him. “I’m going to create a rope bit for you. Like, a gag? I haven’t done it yet though, so it might take me a few tries. And you, you’re going to pull out your plug and replace it with that toy. Easy enough, eh?”

Brian’s eyes narrow for a moment, suspicious, but he nods. “Easy enough, Maître.”

“Well, go on and do it then,” Kris says, pulling up the instructional video. Just above the iPad, in direct line of sight, Kris can keep an eye on Brian as well as he shuts off the vibe and sets it aside. He leans back a little, spreads out, and slides a hand down between his legs - god, he’s _all_ leg, they’re practically bumping up against the coffee table even though the rug is halfway across the room - firmly grasps the plug, and starts pulling.

The first soft whimper escapes him as the biggest part of the plug stretches him, and Kris can see him tilt his head back, eyes closed, as he pulls it slowly, so slowly. Kris glances back at the video, trying to follow along, and by the time he looks back the plug is out and Brian is slicking up the toy with some extra lube. He fidgets, lifting his hips and trying to get comfortable, contorting himself so he can get the head of the toy positioned at his hole.

Kris has missed an important section in the video already, so he rewinds, ignoring Brian for a moment, trying to find his place. It’s a crucial step, so he follows carefully, wrapping a loop around the aluminum rod that forms the core. It’s almost relaxing, this ropework, something he can do with his hands, something he can really see coming together - 

“God,” Brian mutters, and Kris’ attention is pulled back up. The dildo is disappearing inside him, slowly, and suddenly he jerks and groans. Pulling the toy back out a little, he presses it in again, right at that same spot.

“Hitting your sweet spot, chaton?” Kris asks, enjoying the view, as Brian nods. “Why don’t you just leave it there and turn the vibrator on.”

Brian grunts, splaying his hand on the bottom of the toy until he finds the switch. “Fuck,” he says as soon as it turns on, arching up a little. His hand goes automatically to his dick, and Kris shakes his head.

“No no, chaton, you don’t touch yourself. You just lay there quietly and let that work you up for me.”

“Fuck,” he mutters again before nodding, and then louder: “Oui, Maître.”

Kris gets a little over halfway done with the rope gag - mostly able to ignore Brian in the background, squirming and huffing - when Brian makes a punched-out frustrated noise and Kris pauses the video. “What did I say? _Quietly._ You’re distracting me.”

Brian’s mouth twists unhappily. “Sor - désolé, Maître.”

“Easy enough you said, eh? Maybe next time you won’t be so cocky. This is your only warning.” Kris picks up the rope again, then pauses. “You know...if you can do it without touching yourself, you can come. I don’t think you’ll be able to, but I guess you never know. I’ve been reading about it, see. Orgasm training, that’s what it’s called. It’s where you get trained to come just by prostate stimulation. Wouldn’t that be nice, coming on my dick untouched? Too bad we won’t have time, eh?” Brian stays silent, and Kris chuckles. “Good boy. You learn.”

Kris takes his time with the gag, unlooping and redoing sections as necessary, making sure he gets it just perfect. Occasionally he glances over to see Brian, laying splayed out on the rug, eyes closed as he clutches the rug between his fingers, legs twitching while the vibe does its work and tortures him. He’s leaking precome everywhere, smearing it all over his belly as he fidgets, hard as anything. It looks awfully uncomfortable, but he’s being quiet, and good, just like Kris asked him to.

Almost a pity.

Finally, he’s done with the gag, and Brian is so caught up in himself that he doesn’t even notice when Kris steps around the coffee table and kneels down. His eyes fly open and he gasps when Kris splays his hand on his chest. “Chaton,” Kris says, and Brian whimpers in the back of his throat, a soft, bitten-off sound. “That’s good, that’s good. You get a choice. I can get you off right now, or I can get you off after I fuck you. But you only get it once. So choose carefully.”

“Now,” Brian says immediately. “Please. S'il vous plaît.”

Kris thinks Brian is going to regret that immensely, but he _did_ promise, so - “Lay back, relax, chaton. I’ve got you,” he soothes, one hand going to Brian’s cock, the other moving down to the vibrator. He twists the toy, kicking it up another notch and gently thrusting it against Brian’s prostate as he sets a steady rhythm jerking him off. Brian’s desperately trying to swallow his noises. “You can be loud,” Kris amends, and immediately he is, tilting his head back and moaning.

“Please, please,” he begs, tilting his hips up, and Kris thinks about scolding him for the English instead of French, but Brian seems a little out of his mind and Kris is enjoying it. He turns a beautiful shade of red, and Kris likes watching his long legs tremble and jerk as he gets close.

“Come on, chaton. Come for me, I know you want to.”

“Maître,” Brian cries out, locking eyes with Kris and bucking into his touch. Kris feels himself go hot all over at the intense gaze, the reverence in his eyes, and then his eyes are drawn down to Brian’s cock as he comes, shooting a line up nearly up to his chest and then all over his belly. Kris turns off the vibrator, enjoying the show; Brian is still leaking out the last drops when Kris drags two fingers through his stomach and shoves them against Brian’s mouth, where he dutifully opens it and gently closes down, licking himself off Kris’ fingers.

“Secret little come whore,” Kris says softly, withdrawing his hand and getting another swipe. Brian’s already got his mouth open and waiting for it by the time Kris gets there, and he sucks on Kris’ fingers, looking pleasantly exhausted.

“I’m getting more soon, right?” he asks, a little jumbled around Kris’ fingers. There’s a little smile on his face, just an upturn of the corners of his mouth. “Still need you to breed me.”

“That’s right,” Kris says, and he shifts, the urge to throw off his clothes and _take_ almost too much to resist. He could - Brian’s so wet and open, he could just pull his dick out, shove inside, listen to those sweet whimpers as he fucks Brian, he’d be so sensitive, probably _too_ sensitive -

No. He’s got a _plan_, and he’s going to see to it. Like hell he’s going to lose control. “Stay still for me, chaton,” he says, grabbing the shibari ropes off the table. “Wrists and knees together.”

Brian’s quietly obedient, still looking muzzy with his orgasm, and he holds his wrists out for Kris. It’s a quick, simple double-column tie - the basic, and something Kris has been working on - and then he does the same right above Brian’s knees. A little more difficult with how thick his legs are, and the knot falls apart on his first attempt, but he manages on the second, sits back to enjoy his handiwork. Brian is trussed up, almost appearing to be praying with the way his hands are bound in front of him, although being naked and covered in his own come, Kris isn’t sure what kind of church he’d be allowed into. “Bedroom, chaton,” Kris says, helping Brian to his feet, and that wakes him up.

“I can’t go fast,” he says quietly, swaying a little where he stands due to his thighs being tied together.

“I don’t expect you to. Don’t fall, be careful. And before you go…” Kris taps Brian’s jaw with the new rope gag he’s just made. “Open up, now.”

It barely fits in Brian’s mouth; Kris bought thick rope, and Brian has to really bite down to keep it secure. “Your challenge,” Kris says, stroking down Brian’s chest, “is to make sure you keep this in your mouth. Uncomfortable, eh? Your jaw will probably be a little sore. It’ll be easy to drop. But don’t do it, or I get to have my fun with you. You, not so much fun. Is that understood? Nod or shake your head.”

Brian nods.

“Good boy. If you need a safeword...you spit out the gag and you use it, no punishments. Do you understand?”

Brian nods again, eyes flaring wider; Kris doesn’t expect he’ll need it, but he needs to be prepared for it.

“Alright. Then move. And remember: be careful, but no dropping your gag.”

Brian grunts out an affirmation and starts an awkward shuffle-hop to the bedroom. Kris makes a quick detour to grab the lube and plug but stays close; he really will get fucking killed if he somehow injures Brian doing this. But Brian is careful, and eventually they get to the guest bedroom that’s been their playroom. Kris steers him over to the bed and helps him up, onto his knees, where he wobbles precariously.

“It’s going to be a real pain to stay upright,” Kris muses, uncapping the lube and drizzling a bit over two fingers. “I’m not going to be _gentle_ with you, chaton. It won’t be sweet or tender. I’m going to use your body for my own pleasure.” Kris caps off the lube and, without warning or pretense, shoves both fingers deep into Brian’s hole. It’s certainly a surprise; Brian is facing away from Kris, and he had no opportunity to prepare for the new invasion. Brian shrieks around the gag, and Kris half expects him to safeword then and there.

Instead, after a moment of gulping breath, he rocks back, grinding himself deeper onto Kris fingers. Kris laughs, surprised and delighted. “Or maybe you will get something out of this,” he says, twisting his fingers deeper, earning a new whine from Brian. “You like to pretend you’re some sweet kitten, all gentle words and praise, but look at you here, mewling like some little slut around my fingers. Gagging for my dick. I bet I could bring half the team here and run a train on you until you’re dripping out come and you’d just beg for more. You’d let me do it, wouldn’t you?” Brian doesn’t answer, just hangs his head and pants, his breath whistling through the rope gag, so Kris twists his fingers again. “You’d let me do _anything.”_

Brian makes a noise, almost like a great heaving sob, and nods.

“Fuck your vacation,” Kris snarls, and he feels almost drunk with power, buzzed on his dominance, like the sweetest drug. “I’m going to keep you locked up here so you can be my personal toy. Just a couple sloppy holes for me to fuck. You’ll take my load over and over again and beg for more. Look at _this.” _ He reaches between Brian’s legs with his other hand, where his cock hangs, heavy and hard again. “You’re so turned on. Want me so bad.”

Brian hangs his head and peers back at Kris between his legs, and oh god, he’s a _mess._ There are tears forming in his eyes, and the rope gag is wet with spit as he drools around it. But through it all there’s a calm, an unfocused but eager fuzziness in his eyes. He’s down, Kris thinks, that headspace where Brian loves everything and asks for more. And Kris put him there. “Yes,” he crows, delighted, yanking out his fingers and giving himself two quick strokes. He can’t wait anymore, doesn’t _want_ to wait anymore.

It has been so, so long since Kris fucked anyone bare; apparently, he thinks as he pushes in, he’s forgotten how good it is. With condoms, it’s like looking at a beautiful sunset through a thick pane of glass, and now he’s actually getting to step outside. Everything is brighter, more intense, hotter, and Kris was mostly peacocking when he told Brian how he would wreck him, but now he can’t hold back. He pounds into Brian’s warm, willing body, listening to him whimper through the gag as he struggles to stay up. Eventually Brian gives up, falling on his face as Kris drives him into the bed. “Here it comes,” he growls, teetering on the edge. “Finally going to give you what you want - “

His orgasm hits hard; he hasn’t jerked off or came in days, not since they last met, and it’s pleasure like he hasn’t felt in a long time, finishing inside someone with no condom. Brian turns his face so it’s not smashed into the mattress, and moans. He’s still got the gag, which looks a little worse for wear, but is still intact. “Stay there,” Kris says, and he doesn’t want to move, wants to stay buried in the tight heat, but the idea of plugging Brian up gets him going. He snags the plug and it goes in easily into Brian’s loose hole, sealing him up, keeping his come trapped inside.

“Tabarnak,” he mutters, taking just a moment to catch his breath before catching hold of the gag. “Release,” he says, and Brian gingerly opens his jaw to let it go. His chin is coated in spit, and he doesn’t open his eyes yet.

Kris gets the ropes off his wrists and thighs as soon as he can - Brian is still half-hard, and Kris feels a pang of guilt for letting it go, but that’s exactly what he said he’d do. Instead, he pulls Brian into his arms, and there’s no resistance. Brian is a heavy weight, eyes cracked open just a slit, still out of it. “Good boy, good boy, c’est un bon chaton,” Kris tells him, stroking his side. He lets Brian drowse against him, petting him for the better part of half an hour before he finally stirs.

“Dumo,” he says, and Brian blinks up at him, eyes focusing. “Dumo? Everything feel good?”

Brian chuckles, blinking. “Tanger. Yeah. That was - mm, wow."

"I didn't mean it, you know. About the whole team."

"I know, I know. Dirty talk." Brian grins, looking up at Kris through half-lidded eyes. “Are you saying you meant the part about vacation, then?”

“Don’t tempt me,” Kris teases, and Brian laughs.

"I never really figured I’d like that stuff, but...it was really hot. And then you didn’t let me come!"

“Hey, I said what I would do. _You’re_ the one who chose to get off earlier.”

“I did,” Brian says, rubbing his belly, just above his cock which is still just a little bit hard. “Gotta learn some patience. It's gonna be a poor substitute, jerking off when I get home.”

Kris tracks Brian’s hand, the way it ghosts over his dick, like he wants so badly to touch himself. “Or...I mean, you don’t need to wait til you’re home. Just jerk off here.” He gently grabs Brian’s wrist, sets it back on on his cock. “Right here.”

Brian’s still leaning against Kris; they’re practically chest-to-back, and he twists around a little to look at Kris, blinking in surprise. “Right now?”

“Why not?” Kris gently bites Brian’s shoulder, and he lets out a hiss of breath and - after a moment’s hesitation - nods.

Kris keeps holding Brian while he jacks himself off, nuzzling at his jaw, enjoying the expressions flitting across his face while he’s pleasuring himself. “That’s right,” he whispers in Brian’s ear. “Clench yourself around that plug. Later when you take it out, I’m gonna _drip_ out of you, and you’re gonna remember what we did, and I bet you’re gonna have to jerk yourself off again, eh? You look good like this. Real good.” They’re not in a scene, so Kris resists calling him _chaton,_ but - calling him _Dumo_ right now seems a little too strange for this intimate activity. So he kisses and sucks at Brian’s jaw and holds him while he shudders through his orgasm, dribbling more mess onto his stomach.

“God,” Brian mutters, sagging into his arms, and Kris laughs and kisses his chin again.

“How about we take a shower and then maybe we can take a swim in my pool before you go?”

Brian nods, but doesn’t make any move to get up. “Cuddle first,” he declares, and - they’re both disgusting, Brian most of all, but - Kris allows it, keeping his arms wrapped around Brian while he dozes again, sleepy from his fresh orgasm.

It’s not bad, he thinks, as Brian’s head lolls into the crook of his neck. He’s never been a huge snuggler, but it’s kind of nice, wrecking a boy so much he has to be held up. An ego boost, for sure.

Kris settles back down against the pillows and lets himself drowse as well.


	15. Chapter 15

For the first time since their tryst started, Brian is on his way to Kris’ house and _not_ thinking about sex.

‘Something interesting for lunch’, is what Kris asked for, and Brian plans to deliver. There’s a lot of ways 'interesting' could go, especially with Brian’s taste in meals, but ultimately he decided on reindeer - not too far out there, but probably not something Kris has every day - and recipes have pushed all thoughts of sex out of his head. For the moment, at least. He wants to get everything just perfect - 

“Oh,” he mutters out loud. There’s a Tesla sitting in Kris’ driveway, and Brian recognizes it immediately as Sid’s. Which probably means that Sid is here by himself, instead of with Geno, who constantly complains about fitting his big frame inside the car (which is a real joke, considering the little Porsche he likes to tool around in). But why would Sid be here? Did Kris actually mean it when he joked about the team fucking Brian?

It’s not that he’s opposed to threesomes, and Sid is hot as hell, but it’s also _Sid._ His captain, the player he respects more than anyone else in the world, and he’s not entirely sure he’d be ready for something like this. Especially when Kris hasn’t even run it by him. This is definitely something that they need to talk about first.

Brian is just getting annoyed when he shuts off his truck and glances at his phone. There’s a text from Kris: _Sid dropped by. Didn’t know he would. Keep your clothes on._

He feels his anger deflate, like a popped balloon, feels a little bad for assuming that Kris had invited Sid over for sex. This isn’t all about sex, he reminds himself. He and Tanger are still teammates, still friends, and when they return to training camp in the fall, this all needs to go back to normal. Brian grabs the grocery bags and - after a moment of debate whether he should knock or not - heads inside. “Hey,” he calls out, carefully casual.

“Dumo,” Kris calls out from the kitchen, so Brian heads in that direction.

Kris is there looking gently exasperated, arms crossed, leaning against the counter. Sure enough, there’s Sid as well, standing over a bowl and whisking. He looks up, grinning as Brian walks in. “Dumo! I didn’t know you were coming over. You’re the perfect guy for this.”

“For what?” Brian asks, setting the grocery bags on the counter.

“He’s making some terrible Russian dish and is going to poison me with it,” Kris declares, and Sid rolls his eyes.

“I’m _surprising_ Geno and Anna by making okroshka. It’s a summer soup. But I’ve never made it before, and I want it to be good, so I wanted a taste tester before revealing it to them.”

Kris shakes his head. “So why he comes to me for this test, I don’t know. Russian food is _awful._ Even if it’s made well, it’s going to taste bad, what am I good for?”

“This soup is really good,” Sid protests, head back down and whisking. “Geno’s mom made it for us last time she visited. Anyway, that’s why it’s perfect that Dumo’s here. His palate is way more sophisticated than yours.”

Kris throws up his hands in mock outrage. “More sophisticated than a _Frenchman’s_ palate? Don’t insult me, Crosby.”

“Don’t try and throw yourself in with the French and their good tastes. You’re Quebecois,” Sid snorts, and now Kris does make what sounds to be a genuinely outraged noise.

“Even better,” Kris says. “We take all the good things about France, and none of the bad, and make them even better. That includes the food.”

Sid ignores him, finishes up his whisking to start combining ingredients into a large bowl on the stovetop. “Anyway. What are you guys up to today?”

“Lunch,” Brian says, at the exact same time that Kris says _video games._ They pause, Brian’s eyes locking onto Kris’, and there’s a flicker of a grimace that passes along Kris’ face as Sid lifts his eyebrow. “Both,” Brian amends. “Lunch, then gaming.”

“Ah. Just the two of you?”

Kris’ eyes flare wide, and Brian thinks he maybe sees a little panic there. “If you’re angling for an invite, blow me,” Kris says after a pause. “We wanted an actual competitive gaming environment.”

Brian can see where Kris is going. Where all else fails, chirping is a good distraction. He gets the feeling that Kris would prefer Sid not know that they’re hooking up, and that’s probably for the best. “Yeah, Sid,” he says. “With you here it’s like beating up on a child, you know? I just start to feel bad for you after awhile.”

“Fuck you both,” Sid laughs, then nods at the bags that Brian brought along. “Also, if you need to start cooking, go ahead. Don’t feel like you need to offer me food or anything.”

“There’s enough if you want to stay,” Brian says, automatically polite, and kicks himself immediately afterwards. Kris looks incredulous as well, but says nothing.

“Only if you’re sure. What are you making?”

“Reindeer,” Brian says, holding up the package. “I wanted to do something...interesting.”

Sid nods. “That’s definitely interesting,” he says.

It also takes awhile to prepare, so Brian takes the invite to start the lunch as Sid is finishing up his soup. “It’s a cold soup, so we need to wait for it to chill,” he says. “Dumo, can I help with anything?”

Brian puts him to work peeling potatoes and chopping vegetables, and soon enough Sid has wrangled Kris in as well, shoving the peeler towards him insistently. It feels _almost_ normal, the three of them talking and making jokes, but it’s also hard to ignore that Brian came over to have kinky sex with Tanger. He tries not to act like he’s harboring a secret which probably makes him act even weirder, but Sid doesn’t seem to notice anything.

The reindeer turns out great, and Sid is warm and complimentary. Kris doesn’t seem to quite know how to praise Brian outside their kink scene, so he just grunts and nods along with Sid’s words, but - Brian will take it, and he beams, letting the acclaim fill his belly just as much as the food.

“Alright, the soup should be chilled now,” Sid says, jumping up and pulling it out of the fridge to test it. “Yep, okay. Let me know what you think. It might be a little sour, but it’s meant to be that way.”

“Tabarnak,” Kris mutters next to him, shaking his head.

Sid isn’t wrong; it’s definitely sour. Kris makes a disgusted noise when he eats his spoonful, but Brian doesn’t think it’s all that bad. “It’s like a savory yogurt with vegetables,” he says, chewing thoughtfully.

“Awful,” Kris declares, dropping his spoon, and Sid shoots him an unimpressed look.

“Dumo? You like it?” Sid asks.

“I don’t hate it,” Brian says. “It would be better if the veggies were crunchier, I think. Can you wait to combine the liquids and the vegetables until right before it’s served?”

“Oh shit, I think that’s actually what you’re supposed to do.”

Brian grins. “Well there you go,” he says, taking another bite. Probably not something he’d eat every day, but definitely not awful, as Tanger declared. “So what’s the occasion?”

“We have a dinner party tomorrow, and I just wanted to surprise them with this. Anna and Geno have learned to make American food for me, why not return the favor? Dumo, you want to take this home? I’m going to make a fresh batch for the party.”

“Sure,” Brian says. “Thanks, Sid.”

“No worries, enjoy. Alright, I’m headed out. Tanger, see you tomorrow? And remember what we talked about!”

Kris rolls his eyes and waves him away. “Fuck off, Crosby.”

Sid laughs and waves goodbye to both of them, and Kris stays in his seat for just a moment after he’s left before jumping up and disappearing into the hallway. Brian can hear the lock click closed, loud and metallic, before he returns. “I didn’t know he was coming over. Believe me. Glad you got the text, though.”

“Might have been awkward if I’d just stripped down like I was supposed to,” Brian smirks. “So what’s tomorrow that you got scolded about, huh?”

“Ugh.” Kris shakes his head. “That dinner party Sid was talking about. I usually go. But one of Geno’s Russian friends, this older man, his daughter just turned 18 and he’s been bringing her. Well, she guns for me the entire party. Flirting and batting her eyes and I would _never_...but now it’s a big joke with him and Anna and Geno. So they always remind me, ‘Tanger, no fucking Vera,’ as if I ever would.”

“Just tell them you’re fucking me. Problem solved, right?”

Kris barks a laugh. “Sid doesn’t like when I fuck teammates. Says I’ll just break everyone’s heart and cause rifts, as if you aren’t a grown man that knows what a hookup is.” Kris steps closer and hooks his thumbs in the loops of Brian’s shorts, yanking him closer with a smirk. “But what would he think, eh? If he _really_ knew the truth of what we did. That you’re my little kitten. Speaking of, I think you are much too dressed.”

He doesn’t tell Kris that Sid’s probably right to worry. He knows if he’s not too careful that he _could_ fall too deep, could let himself forget Tanger’s true nature, could make himself believe that Tanger might feel more for Brian than he ever would. Brian will be fine, though. There is a rapidly-approaching end date to this - they probably have two, maybe three more hookups - and what’s the worst that could happen in a week? He takes a deep breath, trying to knock Sid and his warnings out of his head, get into the correct mindset for this submission. “Oui, Maître,” he murmurs, hands going to unbuckle his belt.

He still feels a little jittery even after undressing, Sid’s appearance throwing everything off, but Kris seems to recognize this and skims his fingers along Brian’s ribs. “Do you need to kneel?” he asks. “Maybe get my cock in your mouth? Get you in the right mood?”

“I always want your cock in my mouth, Maître.” There’s a hot flush when he says it - how can it sound so hot coming from Kris, and so stupid from him - and Kris must recognize it, because he smirks.

“Answer the question, chaton. Do you need to kneel? If not, I have big plans for you, so you better be ready.”

Brian pauses to really consider it. “It would be nice,” he admits. “A few minutes, at least.”

“Good boy,” Kris smiles. “Alright then, come on.” He grabs Brian’s hand, tugs him towards the living room. Brian follows easily, staring at where their hands are joined together. Kris’ palm is warm and big; it fits perfectly in Brian’s hand, despite him having a solid four inches of height on Kris.

It’s been a long while since someone held his hand.

He shakes off the thought as Kris flops onto the couch; Brian grabs his favorite pillow and situates himself between Kris’ thighs. “Good boy,” Kris says again, pleased, and Brian lets the glow of praise run down his spine and settle in his stomach. He tips forward, pressing his forehead against Kris’ bare thigh - his shorts have rucked up, exposing the flesh - and relaxes. Kris’ leg hair tickles his cheek a little, but he ignores it in favor of the hand in his hair, Kris running his fingertips back and forth across his head.

He’s not sure how long he’s down there for, but enough for the tension to slowly seep out of his body, limbs getting pleasantly heavy, mind blanking out. Kris scritches behind his ear and he moans, lips buzzing against Kris’ skin. “Chaton,” he says. “Why don’t you help get me undressed.”

The shirt’s easy enough; just a soft v-neck that goes right over Kris’ head. But the shorts are a new and perfectly tailored, fitted pair, and the button is sticky. Brian struggles with it for a long moment before Kris chuckles, taking pity on him and lifting his hips to make it easier. Finally, the button snaps open, and -

Kris isn’t wearing any underwear. He’s not hard, but even like this he’s beautiful, and Brian wants to get his mouth on it. Learning forward to do just that, Kris stops him with a yank on his hair. “I said help me get undressed,” he scolds, mildly. “I have a bit different plans for you today. Have you ever rimmed anyone?”

Brian slowly shakes his head as he maneuvers Kris’ shorts down his legs and off. “Not really,” he admits. “I might have strayed down there once or twice when I was eating out a woman. But it wasn’t really a proper rimming.”

Kris heaves a showy, put-on sigh. “Well I taught you everything you know about defense - “ Brian can’t help his playful chuff of indignation, which Kris ignores and continues. “Guess I’ll have to do the same about eating ass. Go ahead now, take a look.” He slumps down on the couch, draws open his legs, and all Brian can see right now is the curve of his ass. Tentatively, he leans forward with both hands and spreads Kris’ thighs, and there it is, a little pink pucker. Kris is neatly shaved and clean, and his cock has taken a little interest, chubbed up against his thigh.

“Maître?” he asks, waiting for the next instructions.

“If you really want to impress your future partners, you’ll build up to it. Kiss up the thighs, build tension. But for me, fuck that. I don’t want tension, I want you to put your tongue on my asshole. Well?”

Brian can do this, he thinks - he’s good at eating pussy, he knows he is, how hard can this be? - but it’s still something _new,_ so he keeps Kris spread as he ducks between his thighs and gives a couple short licks with the tip of his tongue. Apparently that’s not good enough for Kris, because he grabs Brian’s hair and yanks his face closer. “More,” he demands.

Brian gives him more.

He opens his mouth and plants a wet, sloppy kiss right over Kris’ hole, and that must be good because Kris groans above him. He goes for awhile with big swipes of his tongue and kisses around the rim until Kris is squirming. “Inside me,” he says. “I want that fucking tongue _inside_ me, chaton.”

Brian hesitates for just a moment before snaking his tongue out, letting it slip inside Kris’ warm heat, and he answers Kris’ moan with one of his own. It’s gratifying, causing another man - causing his _Maître_ \- pleasure like this. “Good boy, good boy,” Kris says, and he sounds out of breath, like he’s been panting. “Your fingers, too. Get me nice and open.”

_Nice and open_ implies a position they’ve never done before, and Brian doesn’t even notice he’s made a confused hum until Kris gently cups his cheek and tilts his head back to look him in the eye. Brian’s beard feels damp and sloppy with his own spit, and he licks his lips at Kris’ half-lidded expression of pleasure. “Wondering what we’re doing?” Kris asks, and Brian nods. “Tell me this. Right now, during this...scene. Your body, it’s mine, eh? Made for my pleasure?”

Kris’ palm is warm, just like it was when they were holding hands earlier, and he nuzzles into it before he can think too much. “Oui, Maître,” he says.

“So that includes your entire body. Of course, I like your ass the best, but sometimes your dick can be useful for something, eh? If I want to get fucked, then you’re going to fuck me. Now, just because you might be on top, don’t mistake that for control. In fact, that’s going to be your challenge today. You fuck me, but you don’t get to come while doing it. If you’re _good,_ you get to come afterwards. Do you think you can?”

Brian swallows, nerves jangling through his body immediately. Shit, he’s going to _top,_ and there’s no way he’s going to be as good as Kris is, but - he’s going to try. That’s what Kris wants him to do. “I think so, Maître.”

“Oh, don’t look so nervous.” Kris must be able to tell, because he pets down Brian’s cheek and neck, a comforting touch. “I know, I know, my little kitten just likes laying there and being pampered. But it’s my right, isn’t it? I want you to fuck me because it’s going to bring me pleasure, because I _own_ you and that includes your cock. But I tell you what, I make it easy on you. I’ll ride you. You don’t even have to do anything.”

There’s a catch, something in Kris’ smile says so, but honestly - Brian is too caught up in the proclamation that Kris owns him. It’s just for the scene, just for the next week. He _knows_ that.

But god, it’s something he’s always dreamt of _someone_ saying to him. Much less a man that looks like Kris.

He realizes that Kris is still waiting for some kind of response, so he nods, a little too furiously. “I’ll be good for you, Maître,” he promises.

“You always are. Now get back down there and keep licking. And maybe give my dick some attention too. I can tell you won’t calm down until you get a cock in your mouth. You _need_ it, eh?”

Kris is fully hard now, and - yeah, Brian _does_ want his mouth on it. He gathers up his courage and says, “Cock whore, right?” before ducking his head and mouthing at the foreskin. From above, Kris lets out a surprised wheeze.

“Yeah, that’s right,” he says, moving his hand from Brian’s cheek to the back of his neck. “Don’t make me come yet. I know, you love swallowing, but that’s for later. And keep opening me up, chaton.”

Brian’s about to ask for lube, but Kris hasn’t made any mention of it, and he figures Kris knows what he wants. Instead, he divides his attention between Kris’ dick and his ass, making sure to use plenty of spit as he works a finger inside, then the tip of a second. He remember what Kris said earlier - about wanting Brian’s tongue inside him - so he gently scissors his fingers, leans in, and presses his tongue in the open space.

Kris curses in French, and his legs twitch, and Brian feels _trapped_ in the best way. His head caught between Kris’ thighs, Kris’ hand spanning the back of his neck, fully under his control. He tongue-fucks Kris for a long moment, Kris’ growls loud in his ears, before being pushed away.

“Bedroom,” Kris demands. “Let’s go.”

Kris twists and leaps off the couch gracefully, reaching down to grab Brian’s hand and help pull him up, but much like before he doesn’t let go once Brian’s on his feet. They move to the bedroom like that, hand-in-hand, and Brian feels a little dizzy. “Sit,” Kris says, pointing down at the chaise lou- hell, who is Brian kidding, it’s a _sex chair._

He sits, fitting his hips in the divot, and he thinks back to a few weeks ago when these positions were reversed, Kris sitting right where he is now, Brian tied up and riding him, watching them fuck in the full-length mirror. Brian can see himself now, and he looks a little messed up, smeared with saliva and cheeks bright red. He opens and closes his jaw, stretching it out; it’s going to be sore tomorrow.

“Arms straight down,” Kris says, cutting through his musings, and to Brian’s surprise, he’s carrying ropes. He didn’t think he was going to get tied up today, but apparently Kris has other ideas.

Kneeling down, Kris ties a knot around his wrist, and then another to the leg of the chair. He mirrors the ties with the other hand, and Brian marvels for a moment at how fast it goes, compared to the first time Kris attempted a knot. He shouldn’t be surprised that Kris is so good at something after a few attempts, though. Competency sort of seems to be Kris’ thing, in many aspects.

“Test them,” Kris says, and Brian does, shrugging his shoulders up and trying to curl his wrists forward. He stays firmly stuck in place, though; the ropes creak and flex, but don’t move.

“Can’t move,” Brian confirms. “My feet next, Maître?”

“Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you,” Kris snorts. “You really do want to let me do all the work. No, your feet stay untied so you can work your hips while I ride you.”

That’s probably fair, Brian thinks, watching Kris trot over to one of the nightstand drawers and yank it open. Whatever he’s doing, it’s obscured by the long line of his back, and Brian takes a moment to just appreciate what he’s seeing. He doesn’t _look_ in the locker room; he’s not that kind of guy...but it’s hard sometimes, especially with Kris always being so close by, all the defensemen stuck together in their own little corner. Kris is not quite as cavalier with clothes as Horny (who doesn’t care if guys look, and actually goads it on, if Brian’s being honest) but he’s obviously comfortable in his own skin.

When Kris turns back around, he’s got a lube syringe in his hand. “I’ve never really been one for a long, slow fingering,” he explains. “What you did is about the extent of what I like. I get impatient. Just want to get fucked, when I’m in the mood. So this helps. You ever used one before?” Brian has to shake his head, no, but he at least knows how it works, has seen it used in porn. “It’s easy enough. Watch me. Maybe I’ll start using it on you, too. Sometimes, I just want to…well, you make it hard to wait. Sometimes.” He says that last part softly, almost like he’s reluctant to admit it.

“Merci, Maître,” he says, and Kris grins, pleased.

“Don’t let it go to your head,” he says, and Brian thinks about responding but then all thoughts flee his head as Kris climbs up on the bed, spreads his legs, and starts pushing the lube syringe inside him with no preamble. He’s still wet - from his _saliva,_ Brian realizes - so it goes in easily. A quick push of the plunger and he’s done. When Kris pulls it out, Brian can see lube shining there, a different shininess than his spit. “See? Easy enough.”

Brian nods, swallows. “Easy enough.”

The next thing Kris grabs is a condom, which - didn’t they agree to go bareback? Has Kris reneged on their agreement? He frowns, and Kris must understand his confusion, because he clicks his tongue and tuts. “Oh, chaton,” he says, swinging a leg over Brian torso and sitting down in his lap. Brian’s dick presses into the cleft of his ass, nestling in there slick with lube. He gently taps the condom against Brian’s chin, smirking. “I see that pout. You should be thanking me for the condom use. It’ll make it harder for you to come, and that’s the whole point of this, isn’t it? To see if you can do as I ask. To see if you’re a _good boy.”_

“I am a good boy,” Brian insists.

Kris laughs and leans forward, until he’s looming over Brian, so close that he can smell Kris’ cologne. “We’ll see,” he purrs. “Besides, you don’t get to come inside me. Nobody’s _ever_ done that. You think you get to be the first? Oh, no.”

“Nobody?” he blurts out before he can stop himself. Kris raises an eyebrow, but decides to humor him.

“I mostly top, and always use a condom when I bottom. It’s a little special when you allow someone to come inside you, isn’t it?” He pauses, cocks his head, seems to remember that _Brian_ has allowed that with Kris; Brian sure as hell is remembering that right now. There’s a brief, awkward moment where they both just blink at each other, and then Kris leans down and bites at Brian’s jaw, just on this side of too-hard. “No more questions, chaton,” he says, and lifts off only to tear open the condom and slide it onto Brian’s dick.

He should probably examine what just happened a little more, but Kris doesn’t waste any time in pressing Brian’s cock against his entrance and letting gravity take over, and there’s no way he can properly think about anything except Kris’ tight heat. “Shit,” he groans as Kris bottoms out. Kris huffs, throwing his head back, and Brian can’t help but stare at the long column of his neck, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, chest heaving with his breaths. Even with his long hair shorn short - a fucking shame, if you ask Brian - he’s still the most beautiful man he’s ever seen.

And he’s riding Brian’s dick. Fuck, he’s not sure how he’s going to manage not to come. His gaze strays downwards, watching his cock - _his cock_ \- disappear into Kris’ body as he rolls his hips. Fuck. _Fuck._

“Move, chaton,” Kris demands, and Brian sets his heels on the floor and thrusts up, tentatively. Kris’ groan is encouraging, so he does it again, and again, and again - 

He sets a steady rhythm as best he can, but it’s too much too quick, and he stops suddenly, panting, trying to calm himself down and not come. Unfortunately, Kris doesn’t allow it. Once Brian stops, Kris starts rocking his hips perfectly, short little punches that drive Brian out of his mind. “Master,” he cries out, temporarily losing the French in his panic. “Maître,” he corrects. “Please, I can’t - I - I - “

“I know you want to come, chaton,” Kris taunts, still driving himself down onto Brian’s cock. “Come on, then. Come for me?” he asks, grinding down, and it’s enough to tip him over the edge, unwillingly. It’s somehow one of the best and worst orgasms of his life - he feels just as fucked out and used as if he were on the bottom, just a toy for Kris to play with, but he _failed._

“Maître, no,” he whimpers, bucking up through his orgasm, hips stuttering out their finish.

Kris keeps riding him while he softens up, and the orgasm suddenly twists into _too much, oversensitive,_ but he can’t do anything but whimper and take it. “I know, I know,” Kris soothes. “You lost. I didn’t make it easy on you, did I? But you said you wanted a challenge. You told me you wanted to be _pushed,_ didn’t you? Now, open your mouth.”

A sad, chagrined noise bursts out of Brian’s mouth, but he does as asked - he can at least do this - and Kris stands up and puts his cock right in Brian’s face, hand working furiously. “Close your eyes,” Kris says, and Brian does, just as the first splash of come hits his face. Despite the earlier instructions to open his mouth, Kris seems to aim everywhere _but_ there; Brian ends up with Kris’ come splattered down his cheek, oozing through his beard, and a little glob hanging from his nose. When he opens his eyes again, Kris is looking down at him, obviously enjoying what he’s seeing. “Yeah,” he says, running a hand through Brian’s hair. “You look best like this, covered in my come, all over your face. Wouldn’t Sid love to see you now, eh.”

“Je suis vraiment désolé,” he says - _I’m very sorry_ \- because he remembers that, one of Kris’ phrases that was taught earlier. Maybe Brian has been writing them down - so what if he is? It seems the right time to pull it out.

“I’m not,” Kris says. “I can’t wait to wreck you. I need to think about what I want to do for your punishment, though. Are you ready to clean up?”

Brian nods, biting his lip, and Kris shakes his head, kneeling next to Brian. “Don’t feel bad,” he says, gently. “I know how to drive a man crazy. It was never a fair fight, really. Anyway, what did you call it? _Funishment?”_

“Yeah,” Brian says. “Like, you know. A fun punishment.” He licks his mouth, at a stray dribble of come clinging there.

“Right. Well I’m not really angry or disappointed, so I won’t have you giving me that pout now,” Kris says, flicking his nose, and Brian jerks back and laughs despite his still lingering disappointment. “There, there’s that smile. Keep it on, and I clean you up.”

“Okay,” he says, feeling a little more clear-headed than he usually does. He didn’t quite get into subspace, so it’s interesting to watch Kris doing this, the first part of aftercare. Normally he’s too out of it to notice Kris’ gentleness in undoing the ropes; he checks Brian’s wrists carefully for any scrapes or bruises. Kris even wipes Brian’s face off himself, using a warm washcloth, scrubbing his beard a little extra to get it all out. The condom is discarded, and Kris tugs him over to the bed. He goes, feeling mostly warm and happy now with the special attention of aftercare. It’s a little different than the blissed-out fuzziness he’s usually in, but no less good. Just...different.

“You’re not out of it today,” Kris notes, kissing his jaw and opening his arms for Brian.

“Didn’t go down,” he says, taking the invite and collapsing into Kris’ embrace. Kris twines his legs around Brian’s thigh and spans a hand down his back, and Brian sighs and closes his eyes. “It was still great, though. So what are you gonna do to me?”

“I think you told me once you fantasize about just being used, and not getting off,” Kris says, and Brian opens his eyes and mouth to protest, but Kris cuts him off. “I know, I know. You say, just a fantasy. You wouldn’t like it in real life, or so you think. Well maybe we can test it out. You’ve heard of edging?”

“Yes,” Brian says, slowly. There’s _plenty_ of edging porn out there - nothing he’s ever really watched, but he’s familiar with the concept. “Like, where you keep a guy on the edge for awhile before letting him come. ...you would let me come, right?”

“Sure. After some period of time which I decide. I think you would look really nice, out of your mind and begging,” Kris says, trailing a hand down Brian’s jaw. “I bet I get to find out.”

Brian blushes under Kris’ assessing scrutiny, his words, the soft touch along his neck. “Okay,” he says. “Anything for you, Tanger.”

Kris’ smile goes wider, and he gently pats Brian’s cheek. “What do you think, our usual now? Nap and maybe a swim?”

“Sounds good,” Brian confirms, settling down and closing his eyes. It’s only right before he falls asleep that he realizes what he said: _anything for you..._but then he called him _Tanger._ That’s a statement more appropriate for their scene, for ‘Maître’. Not for real life.

Oh well, he thinks, letting sleep drag him down, warm in Kris' arms. A slip of the tongue.

It doesn’t mean anything.


	16. Chapter 16

“If you want to yell at Geno, let me know. So I can watch,” Kris says, spearing a forkful of lettuce.

Andy O’Brien, Sid’s trainer and now the Pens’ Director of Sports Science, just laughs and shakes his head at the notion. Both Andy and Kris - and Sid, of course - are being relatively good in their diets, even here at the dinner party, where there are a thousand temptations. But not Geno. From across the yard, Kris can see Geno’s plate filled with Russian delicacies, which includes fried dumplings, some very questionable slices of fatback, and way too many cream puffs. “He’s allowed to have a little cheating for the first week or two,” Andy says. “I know Geno. He’ll be right back at it soon enough. Especially this year. I know he’s disappointed.”

“Aren’t we all,” Kris says, poking at his salad. Salad, shrimp cocktail, baked chicken, and some pasta; no weird Russian stuff for him. Except for maybe one of those cream puffs a bit later, but Andy doesn’t need to know about that.

“I guess we can’t win every year.” Andy leans forward, glancing around conspiratorially. “Sid basically had an entire pizza and three donuts right after clean-out day was done. He just prefers to cheat day more in private.”

“You don’t say,” Kris says, already thinking of a good chirp for that information.

“Hey now, that’s a secret!”

Kris scoffs, but grins. “What good is that info if I can’t even tease Sid about it?”

“Tease me about what?” Sid asks, suddenly leaning in behind them. He’s wearing swim trunks, and they’re damp, like he’s just gotten out of the pool. “What are you two getting up to?”

“Andy is sharing all your secrets. Don’t worry, I think of ways to tease you later,” Kris says, laughing at the betrayed look Sid gives Andy.

Andy turns his glare - playful, at least - towards Kris. “See if I ever do anything for you,” he tells Kris. “I’m gonna go get some more wine.” He gives a meaningful look towards Kris’ empty glass, as if to emphasize he _isn’t_ getting Kris a refill, and heads off.

Sid takes Andy’s spot on the couch. He’s got a spot of red forming on his nose, and Kris leans over and boops it. “Getting red, mon ami,” he says. “You need more sunscreen.”

Sid makes a face and touches the spot. “It’s been cloudy all day, figured I was safe with a single application. We got lucky, the rain has held off.”

Kris glances skyward; it _has_ been a perfect day. Cloudy enough to hide the sun, warm but not hot. A good day for an outdoor party. The sun is on its way down now, slowly, but it’s still comfortable enough to sit outside in shorts and a t-shirt. “Well, red’s not a good look on you. I’m looking out for you, you’ll never get laid like that.”

“Geno and Anna have seen me way worse than this.”

“And still fucked you? Actually, no - “ Kris holds out his hands. “Don’t you answer that.”

Sid grins slyly, the answer plain without him having said anything. “By the way, the soup went over really well. No thanks to you.”

“No accounting for bad taste, Sid. But that’s what happens when you get married to two Russians, you start liking bad food.”

“I’m gonna tell Geno you said that,” Sid laughs, then pauses to reconsider. “Actually, I’ll tell Anna. Make you really sorry.”

“I’m way more scared of her,” Kris says agreeably. “But I’m glad the soup worked. They seemed to really like it. I know it’s important to you, that kind of stuff.”

Sid’s expression goes soft and dopey. “Yeah. Just love them. You know,” he says, and they sit in silence for a moment, Kris polishing off his shrimp cocktail, Sid downing the rest of his wine before he speaks next. “So. You and Dumo, huh? I - “

Kris looks up sharply, cutting Sid off. Is he trying to imply Kris is in love with Dumo or something? “It’s not like _that,”_ he says, and immediately knows he’s said the wrong thing by Sid’s frown.

“I was just going to say it’s nice you guys are hanging out together, but...I take it there’s something more.”

“Not really.”

Sid heaves a sigh. “Tanger, I know that I agreed not to bitch about this - “

“Okay then, you can stop talking.”

“ - but Dumo is your d-partner, man. It’s not like hooking up with some forward. If things go wrong…”

Kris sets his fork down onto the plate, a little harder than he meant to, and the clatter it makes draws a few eyes. “I don’t want to get into this, Sid,” he says. “Dumo’s a grown man. We’ve been going for a few weeks now, and no problems. And there won’t be any problems.”

Sid’s eyes go wide. “A few _weeks?”_

Kris waves his hand. “Yes, so? In a few days he leaves for vacation, I go back to Montreal, it’s done and over. We see each other in training camp and things go back to normal. The end. No big deal.”

“Uh huh.” The skepticism is unmistakable on Sid’s face, and he leans forward, lowering his voice. “Promise me you’ll be careful.”

“I’m always - “

_“Promise_ me, Tanger. Dumo loves you. Not like - he’s not _in_ love with you, not that I know. But he loves you all the same. Just like he loves me, and Geno, and every guy in our locker room. He told me that once, and I can tell it’s true. He’s got a big heart, you know? And I think maybe he’s a little lonely. So.”

“So you think big bad playboy Kris Letang is going to take advantage of poor heartsick lonely Brian Dumoulin? I think you don’t give him enough credit, Sid.” He drains his wine, sets the glass down harshly on the closest table, where it makes a satisfying thunk. “I don’t know how much damage I can do in a few more days with him anyway, but sure. I _promise.”_

Sid blows a breath through his teeth, gently kicking at Kris. “Trouduc,” he mutters.

“Ah, that’s how I know you’re serious, calling me that in French instead of just ‘asshole’.”

“Sometimes I don’t know why we’re friends.”

_“Best_ friends,” Kris says, booping Sid right in his red nose again, and jumping up before Sid can make a grab for him. If Andy’s not going to get it, he needs more wine.

“That’s Flower,” Sid yells to Kris’ retreating form. “Jerk.”


	17. Chapter 17

If the texts Brian wakes up to are any indication, Kris apparently switches to French when he’s drunk. At least, he assumes it’s drunkenness; the texts get steadily more incoherent as the timestamps get later, culminating in some French sentences that are truly filthy, if Google translate is correct.

But the gist of it is this: tomorrow, Brian is to bring Roo over to his house at 8a sharp. Not because Kris particularly wants to see her - although Kris likes dogs - but Brian is going to be occupied all day. Long enough that Roo shouldn’t be left home alone.

“What did I get myself into, baby girl,” Brian mutters into Roo’s soft head, and she sucks a loud snore through her nose and keeps right on sleeping. Last night he took a look at some edging porn, and it flits through his mind now. The way the men wailed and pleaded to be able to come after thirty, forty minutes of exquisite torture, brought close to the edge again and again and then stopped.

Tomorrow sounds like it’s going to be a lot more than thirty or forty minutes.

He can picture it, if he closes his eyes. He and Kris are watching a movie - well, Kris is watching. Brian is tied to one of the dining room chairs that’s been dragged next to the couch, naked and breathing hard, and every so often Kris leans over and jacks him off. Or maybe there’s a vibrator inside him, and Kris flips it on, lets Brian scream his heart out. Listens to Brian beg.

Maybe - maybe Kris would blow him. For all the variety, in everything they’ve done, there’s still a few things that haven’t happened. They’ve never even kissed. Brian doesn’t expect that, not from _Kris_, but - well, a blowjob would be nice, before they stop doing this forever.

If he asks for it, if he _begs_, perhaps Kris will give it to him.

“Don’t think less of me when you hear me begging, Roo-Roo,” he tells the dog, and she finally wakes up and jams her face eagerly into his, covering him with kisses.


	18. Chapter 18

Kris expected the puking, after how much wine he drank at Sid’s. But when it starts coming out the _other_ end, that’s when he realizes something is terribly wrong.

He's indignant as he punches in the auto-dial for Sid. “You got me sick,” he accuses as soon as the phone picks up. His voice sounds raw, even to himself.

He quickly realizes it’s not Sid that answered, though. “You sick too? It’s Geno. Sid is very bad sick. Not good.”

“And you’re not?”

“Not me,” Geno says, entirely too cheerful. Kris sort of wants to kill him. “Not Anna either. I - what?” Kris can hear murmuring, someone talking to him. “Oh. Anna says, think it was the salad. Only people who ate salad seem to be sick. You, Sid, Andy. Few others.”

“You didn’t eat any salad?”

“Fuck you, I eat too much salad during season,” Geno says. “See where eating salad gets you, yeah? I guess there’s been a, uh, recall on the lettuce. For - sorry, _what?”_ he asks someone - Anna - and there’s more murmuring. “Lis-ter-ia,” he repeats, slowly.

“Fucking great,” he groans.

“Sorry. I hope you feel better.”

“See if I ever come to another dinner party.”

Geno snorts. “You eat Russian food, no listria,” he says, promptly butchering the name of the food poisoning. “Next time.”

“Tell Sid I hope he feels as terrible as me,” Kris says, hanging up and burying his face in the pillows. Just what he fucking needed. He’s going to sleep all day, he thinks, and he makes a game try at it, only getting up when the food poisoning demands its way out of his body in one way or another, and foraging for some Gatorade and crackers. He manages to sleep most of the night, and is still passed out on his bed when there’s a loud _woof._ Kris can pretend the first bark is a figment of his imagination, but the second lifts his head, and the third causes his eyes to snap open.

Fuck. It’s Roo, and Dumo. He forgot, how could he _forget - _

“Dumo,” he calls out, but it sounds weak, so he tries again. This one sends footsteps down the hallway towards him, and he runs a hand through his hair, trying to make himself look presentable. Probably in vain.

His bedroom door is open, and Brian peeks inside hesitantly. He’s never really been in here, Kris knows, always in the guest bedroom that’s set up for their activities. “Tanger. Oh shit,” he gasps, stepping into the doorway. He’s naked. Just like Kris has demanded of him. Unfortunately, he knows, there will be no taking advantage of that today.

“I’m sorry,” he croaks. “Sid’s stupid party gave me food poisoning. I forgot to text you.”

“You look awful,” Brian declares. “Hold tight, I’m going to go get my clothes back on.”

Kris opens his mouth to protest, to tell Brian he can just leave, but he’s already gone. When he reappears, he has Gatorade in hand, and sets it down on Kris’ bedside table. “When’s the last time you ate?”

“I had crackers yesterday.” Kris pulls the covers up around him, feeling strangely vulnerable. He doesn’t usually like anyone near him when he’s sick.

Brian tuts like his mother. “I’m going to the store to make you chicken noodle soup,” he says. “You stay here and get some more sleep.”

“You don’t have to - “

Brian fixes him with a look. “I’m going to. Now, sleep,” he says, and again he disappears, Roo hot on his heels. Kris slumps back down with a groan, heart still hammering in his chest from the surprise at being woken up. He’s not sure how he’s going to get back to sleep - 

The next time he opens his eyes, there’s a snoring bulldog wedged up against his side, and the house smells like food. Surprisingly, it doesn’t turn his stomach. “Quoi,” he mutters, groggy and disoriented from the loss of time. He’d just closed his eyes for a second; but, apparently not. Somehow he fell right back asleep, long enough that Brian has apparently gone to the store, come back, and started on the food. Leaving Roo asleep, he shuffles out of bed and puts on some fresh pajamas, and brushes his teeth. The man in the mirror still looks like death warmed over, but that’s not going to change until he gets a shower.

He makes his way to the kitchen, where Brian is decked out in latex gloves and a breathing mask, stirring a pot on the stove. “Jesus,” he murmurs at the sight. “I’m not contagious.”

Brian’s face contorts, and he looks like he’s smiling under the mask. “If you have norovirus, you are _highly_ contagious. No offense, but I don’t wanna get that right before I go on vacation. Is everyone at the party sick?”

“Just a few of us.” Kris slinks over to the breakfast bar, throws himself on one of the stools. “Just the ones that eat the salad. Geno thinks it’s lis - “ Shit, now he’s going to screw up the name. “Listria?”

“Ohhhh. Listeria.” Brian yanks off the mask, shaking his head. “It’s not norovirus then, or everyone would be sick. That’s the stuff that infects like, entire cruise ships. Real bad shit, way worse than listeria. I heard about that recall. Packaged lettuce, right?”

“Fuck if I know,” Kris says, trying not to sound too miserable.

“Well on the plus side, listeria isn’t really contagious at all! Hell, we could make out and I’d probably be fine. Not that...I’d want to do that or anything. But that’s good news.”

It doesn’t feel like good news. Kris groans, drops his head down to the bar, and when he looks up there’s a piping hot bowl of liquid being placed in front of him. At some point, Brian has discarded the gloves. “Eat,” he says. “I know you probably don’t feel like it, but this stuff will do you good. And then I can go run you a hot bath for when you’re finished.”

“Stay with me?” Kris asks, feeling especially pathetic. “I mean, run me a bath later. But for now, stay and eat and talk about something that isn’t norovirus.”

“Sure,” Brian says, heading back over to get a bowl for himself. Roo ambles into the kitchen, still looking half-asleep. “There she is. Did you sleep with Tanger and make him feel better?” he asks the dog.

“She definitely slept with me,” Kris says, poking at his soup. “She’s very fat.”

Brian mock gasps, looking offended. “Don’t listen to him, Roo. You are not fat. You’re just big-boned, and you’re perfect the way you are.”

“Took up half the bed, man.”

“Fuck that, I saw that bed. It’s like, _bigger_ than a king. How the hell did you get that?”

Kris shrugs, blowing on his soup before taking a bite. God, it’s fucking good. Probably the best chicken noodle he’s ever had. “Custom order,” he says. “Enough money, you order whatever you want.”

“True,” Brian says, taking a seat across from him. “So that was, uh...your bedroom?”

Kris nods. “Yeah. The master. I don’t know why I order the big bed, to be honest. It’s always just me. No hookups, or...nothing like that.” He doesn’t know why he feels the need to explain to Brian why Kris has never invited him into that space. It’s his own business. Still...

Brian’s silent for a moment, the spoon scraping the bowl. “And Roo now,” he says with a small smile.

“And Roo.” Kris points down at the soup. “It’s really good, by the way. Like...the best I’ve eaten maybe. Not that I eat chicken noodle often. Maybe I would, if it all tasted like this.”

Brian lights up at that. “Thanks,” he says. “I’ve been fiddling around with the recipe. Normally I prefer to do a traditional low simmer, but I didn’t have time for that so I used your instant pot, and I added some lemon zest. Gives it a different flavor profile, right? A little pop?”

Kris finds himself laughing, despite still feeling awful. “Only you would get so excited about soup.”

“Soup is underrated.” Brian smiles, gently pushes away his empty bowl. “You want that bath now?”

_You don’t have to_ \- the words are on Kris’ lips, but he lets them drift away and nods. “Don’t usually take baths. Not unless they have ice in them, anyway. Can’t remember last time I had a hot bath, not in a jacuzzi or something.”

“It always makes me feel better. You stay and finish the soup, and I’ll be back.” Brian hesitates. “Uh, I know there’s a bath in the guest bedroom where we always - um - but if you have one in your master bathroom…”

“It’s nicer,” Kris agrees. “Sure. Use that one.”

Brian nods, making his way down the hall and towards the bedrooms. A few minutes later, very faintly, Kris can hear the water running, hitting into the tub. He glances down to see Roo, staring up at him with wide eyes. “Beggar, are you,” he murmurs in French. “Just like I wanted to make your owner do. A different begging, though. Guess that won’t happen now.” It’s disappointing to think of. Brian’s only got a day or two left before he leaves, and Kris probably won’t feel better in that timeframe. Maybe they could, at training camp - 

Sid’s warnings come back to him, and he sighs. On this, Sid’s probably right. Better to leave it alone after this.

“Ready whenever you are,” Brian calls, and Kris heads in that direction. He finds Brian in the master bathroom, carefully sweeping his hand through the water to test the temperature. “Feels good to me,” he says. “I can get out of your way.”

“What, not going to wash my hair?”

It was a joke, but Brian hesitates. “Do you want me to?”

“Well - “ Kris pauses, mulls it over. Fuck it, it might be nice. “Actually. Yes.”

Brian drags his teeth over his lip. “I’d be happy to do that for you,” he says softly. And, right - the _submissive_ thing. Maybe not all submission is sexual, Kris realizes. But hell, if he can do this for Brian, if this can be a mutual thing that they both enjoy, why the hell not?

“I’d like that very much,” he says, reaching up to cradle Brian’s jaw for a moment, letting his thumb trace along his barely-there beard. Brian leans into the touch for a moment before pulling away.

“Okay,” he says with a smile. “So what sort of special shampoo do you have?”

“Honestly, I buy whatever’s on sale,” he says, waving at the shower as he peels his clothes off. “It’s in there.”

“Bullshit,” Brian laughs, coming back with his shampoo and conditioner, turning the bottles over in his hands. “This shit is French! And expensive looking! Whatever’s on sale my ass.”

“Well I said _on sale_, I never say where it’s on sale at. What, you think I buy stuff from the grocery store?”

“That’s what I do,” Brian shrugs.

“That stuff is terrible for your hair, Dumo.” Kris tests the water himself, slowly dips a leg inside. It’s hot, and he has to go slow.

Brian crosses his arms, watching Kris get in. “Oh yeah? So pick something out for me, then.”

“Maybe I will.”

“Mmhm,” Brian says, clearly skeptical.

Hell, Kris thinks, maybe he’ll actually do it. _Anything_ he chooses has to be better than some grocery store shit that Dumo uses. He finally manages to get himself fully in the tub, sinking down slowly, and he’s sweating in an instant, but it feels good. Almost like he’s sweating out the sickness. His stomach roils a little, but calms down as he settles in the tub. “Hot,” he murmurs.

“It’s good for you. Let me know when you’re ready for your hair.”

“Mmm.” Kris closes his eyes, simply enjoying the water for a moment, and they sit in companionable silence. When he opens his eyes back up, he finds Brian watching him with a smile. “Okay. Ready.”

“Wet your hair for me, and then sit up.”

Kris doesn’t use the tub often enough for how big and expensive it was to install. It’s practically long enough to accommodate him fully lying down - meant for two people to sit, one on each end, a lover’s tub. Not that he’s ever had another person in it before. But it’s easy enough to stretch out, tilt his head back and lower himself until his hair is soaked, the hot water coming up to his cheeks. Brian’s already behind him when he comes back up, dripping, and big hands span his scalp, rubbing in the shampoo. “Mmm,” he says, as Brian scritches along his scalp.

“Feels good, huh?”

“Feels good,” Kris agrees with a sigh, slumping back against the tub. He’s having a hard time figuring out if Brian is truly washing his hair or massaging his scalp, or maybe a bit of both. It _does_ feel good.

“Why’d you cut your hair?” Brian asks, after a long moment of near-silence, only the slick slide of the shampoo cutting through the quiet.

“Oh. Just something different, I guess. Why, you liked it long?” Kris turns to glance back at Brian, who is turning pink.

“I mean, it’s none of my...I’m not implying that you should like, take my opinion into account here. But yeah, I liked it long. Not long like when you first came into the league. The one where it was shorter on the sides, but still longer on top. We’d be out there together during the anthem, and I’d look over and it would be in your face, all crazy and wet and - god, just - you were beautiful. I mean, you still are, but uh…” He trails off, clearly embarrassed, murmuring a near-silent curse as he shakes his head. “Don’t mind me, I’m rambling now.”

“Oh no, someone called me _beautiful,_ I hate it,” Kris says dryly, and Brian finally relaxes and splashes him with some water. It lands on his jaw, dripping down.

“See if I ever do it again,” Brian laughs. “Alright. Soak as long as you want, but you should probably shower next. Get the shampoo off, condition, a good scrub, cause I gotta say you don’t smell great.”

The bath water is an ugly gray now, and Kris juts out his lip at Brian. “You going to start my shower for me too?”

“Lucky you’re sick,” Brian mutters, but he’s smiling when he says it. “Okay, okay.”

Kris is fairly proud of his shower. It’s huge, all marble and granite, multiple shower heads and a few benches. He hears Brian curse in surprise and turns around. “Oh, wrong knob. That’s the waterfall.”

“You have a fucking waterfall in your shower,” Brian says, staring at it. “Tanger, what the fuck.”

“It’s nice,” Kris says. “But not good for right now. Turn that knob and - no, not that one, that’s the sauna option. Yes, right there. That should do.”

Brian shakes his head. “I should’ve negotiated for more money, I guess.”

“You still living in that tiny townhouse?”

“It’s like 2000 square feet, it’s not exactly _tiny,”_ Brian says, pausing and seemingly remembering how big Kris’ house is. “Well, okay. And yeah, for the moment. But I’m moving out shortly. Getting a house built on the same street as Shears and Rusty. It’s gonna be awesome. It doesn’t have a waterfall in the shower, though.”

“So you want to try it out?” Kris lifts out of the tub, letting the water drip down. “Anyway, you still need to condition my hair.”

Brian does a poor job of hiding his surprise. “So, uh...you want me to get naked?”

“Well, don’t shower in your clothes,” Kris says, scooting past Brian and stepping into the shower, slumping on the largest of the benches. It’s heated, so it’s nice and warm already, and Kris lets his head loll against the wall. All these creature comforts, but there’s still nothing like somebody making you food and washing your hair when you’re sick. It’s not something he should get used to, but this time - it’s nice.

Brian steps into the shower, clothes discarded, and gently shuts the door behind him, steam starting to fill the area. “So how do you feel?”

“Better, I guess,” Kris says. “Still not great. But better. If I have to puke suddenly, I’ll warn you.”

“Maybe that’s my kink,” Brian says, and bursts out laughing at Kris’ look. “It’s not, it’s not. I promise.”

“I thought I knew all your kinks.”

“Most of them,” Brian admits, stepping up and gently easing the shower head to where he can rinse Kris’ hair.

As the water sluices around him, Kris wonders exactly which kinks he didn’t get to find. “Suppose I won’t get to find out,” he muses.

“Guess not.” Brian’s quiet for a long while, rinsing Kris’ hair and then grabbing the conditioner bottle to apply that, running his fingers through Kris’ hair again and again to do so. His hands still suddenly, playing with one of the strands, rolling it through his fingertips. “You won’t tell anyone, right?” he asks quietly. “This whole - uh, submissive thing. It’s not exactly something I want getting around. You know.”

“I wouldn’t - “

“Not even to the team,” Brian interrupts. “Not Sid. Nobody. Just - nobody needs to know, right? Even if they know we hooked up?”

“I don’t kiss and tell,” Kris promises, grabbing Brian’s hand and brushing his lips against his palm. “What we do, it’s only our business.”

Brian sags a little - with relief, perhaps - and nods. “Our business,” he says. “Just us.”

“Just us,” Kris says. “Alright, you going to be a good boy and scrub me down, too?”

Brian goes pink again, but he chuckles, nods, and grabs the loofah.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This era was during Kris' tragic short hair phase, which [you can see here.](https://i.imgur.com/weJOSVt.png) Luckily, he started growing it out again the next season. This may or may not be due to Dumo's preferences...


	19. Chapter 19

The body wash is French as well, Brian notes as he grabs the loofah, and it looks just as expensive as the shampoo and conditioner. It smells good, too. He decides not to admit that he just uses Old Spice; he’s sure Kris would give him an earful about _that._ “Definitely don’t puke while I’m down here, please,” he says, squatting down to start at Kris’ feet, rubbing the soaped loofah around his ankles.

“I think I’m okay for now.” Kris sticks his leg out, allowing Brian to gently cradle it while he washes. It makes a lot of bubbles, and soon both legs are covered in suds. Brian starts on Kris’ chest, still kneeling, but suddenly Kris’ hand is on his jaw, drawing his face upward.

“Before I forget, just...thank you,” Kris says quietly. “I know this isn’t what you signed up for. But it’s just what I needed. So, _merci.”_

“What’s ‘you’re welcome’ in French?”

Kris grins. “De rien,” he says.

“Well, de rien,” Brian repeats, slowly. Kris brings his other hand up, cupping Brian’s jaw with both hands, and his thumb is gently brushing along Brian’s cheek. It’s soft and intimate and Brian can feel butterflies in his stomach as he closes his eyes, enjoys the touch. _Kiss me, kiss me,_ he wants to say, but - food poisoning. Even without being super contagious, it’s not a good idea. Still, he allows his mind to wander, to fantasize about another time; they’d be in a scene, and Brian would be here on his knees, washing Kris’ feet, kissing them. _Good boy,_ Kris would say, gently dragging him up for a deep kiss, the loofah dripping suds in Brian’s hand as Kris ravished him. _Good boy,_ he’d say again, _chaton, I love you - _

Brian’s eyes pop open at the same time that Kris playfully smears a gob of suds across his nose. “Hey,” he protests halfheartedly, the shock of the fantasy still fresh in his mind, heart hammering in his chest. What was _that?_ ‘I _love_ you’? That’s not - no, no -

“I think you were dropping,” Kris says with a smile. “And as much as I love that, I’m in no position to bring you up or take care of you, I’m afraid. Not right now. Although maybe, after this, you want to take a nap?”

“Uh,” Brian says, only half-listening to Kris, still caught up in the fantasy his mind just conjured. “Huh? Oh - nap? Yeah, sure. That sounds like a plan.” Another bit of suds gets pushed into his face, and that finally snaps him out of it, spluttering and laughing. _“Hey.”_

“Well you weren’t paying attention to me,” Kris declares, smirking.

It’s impossible _not_ to pay attention to you, Brian wants to say, but instead he smiles, wipes off the suds. “Keep it up and I won’t wash your back.”

“But that’s the part I need help with the most.”

“Better turn around, then.” There’s a certain resignation befalling him as Kris turns around on the bench, dipping his head to expose more of his back. _Fuck._ Of course he had to go and feel something for Kris. Not love, but a stupid crush at least. He feels the same as he did when he first joined the Pens, riding high when he got Kris’ approval or attention, knowing at the same time that Kris was far out of his league. That all went away to a steady, if sometimes frustrating friendship as they became d-partners. But here he is again, daydreaming that Kris is going to turn into something he never will, that he’ll tell Brian something that he probably won’t ever say to _anyone._ ‘I love you’? What a joke.

This is it, at least. Brian doesn’t have time to turn this crush into anything else, because now they leave for the summer. Everything will be back to normal in training camp, and Brian can take this as a valuable lesson learned - if he hooks up as a submissive again, he needs to guard his feelings until he’s sure there might be some viable option with the Dom.

He wants to touch while he scrubs Kris’ back, watching the long lines of muscle flex as he shifts and squirms under Brian’s touch, but he resists. Outside the shower, on the sink, Kris’ phone lights up and makes a particular chirp. “Oh, that’s Sid,” Kris says, peeking around at his phone. Of course, Sid would have his own ringtone. “I hope he’s just as miserable as me.”

“I’m gonna tell him you said so. Okay, rinse.”

Kris stretches slowly to his feet, stepping under the warm spray with a sigh. “Good,” he says. “Tell him. I want him to know.”

“You tell him. I should walk Roo before we nap,” Brian says, stepping out of the shower and grabbing a nearby towel. They’re absolutely insanely fluffy, and _warm_ \- Kris has a warming rack, Brian notices belatedly. Shit, just another thing he needs to get for his new place.

He gets dressed and walks Roo around Kris’ backyard before Kris gets out of the shower, scolding himself all the way. Idiot, stupid jerk. What the hell is he thinking? What he needs to do is go on vacation, fuck whomever he pleases, then get to Boston and do the same. He usually plays in the FPL - the Foxboro Pro League, a summer league for high-level guys in the Boston area - and the place is usually an absolute shit show with guys hooking up. Brian’s never been one for that. Maybe this summer will be different. Whatever he needs to take his mind off Kris.

The house is quiet when Brian gets back in, and he peeks into the guest room where they usually nap, but it’s empty. Instead, Kris is in the master bedroom, looking surprisingly tiny in his massive bed, under a pile of covers. “Hey,” Brian says hesitantly, still feeling strange being in this room. “You wanna nap here?”

“Mmhmm,” Kris says, sounding already half-asleep. “C’mon.”

Brian leaves his shirt and boxers on when he gets undressed for the nap, but Kris is naked, he quickly realizes as he slides into bed. “Do I need to dress you, too?” he jokes.

“Later,” Kris says with a wide yawn. “I’m cold. Come here.”

“Maybe if you like, put some actual _clothes_ on - “

“Shut up and come here,” Kris demands, and as soon as Brian gets close he gets roughly handled, rolled over so Kris can spoon against his back. Even sick, Kris takes the big spoon spot; somehow, that seems almost fitting. “Now shush,” Kris mutters, his breath against Brian’s neck raising goosebumps on his arms.

Brian doesn’t say anything, but Kris’ hand is dangling right there. _Don’t do it, don’t do it -_ but Brian never listens to himself when he should, and he slides his fingers through Kris’, grabbing his hand. Kris makes a pleased noise and burrows closer, squeezing Brian’s hand, and that’s how he falls asleep, cuddled around Brian, holding his hand.

It takes a lot longer for Brian to fall asleep himself.


	20. Chapter 20

Kris feels a lot better when he wakes up. Definitely not 100%, as his stomach is quick to tell him, but certainly better.

From behind him comes a sharp intake of breath, a small snore, and Kris startles for a moment at the unfamiliar noise. But it’s just Dumo; in his sleepy state, he’d nearly forgotten someone else was here. They fell asleep spooning, but now Brian is starfished out, long limbs askew, Roo tucked into the V of his legs and twitching in her own sleep.

He takes a long moment to study Brian, his expression peaceful. Kris remembers what he looked like when he first came in the league, so chubby-faced and young, and now all the baby fat is gone, replaced by a beard that grows like a weed and a few barely-there age lines around his eyes and mouth. There’s a permanent scar on his jaw, a spot of white where hair doesn’t grow, probably from a puck. Kris has one of those, too. They’re impossible not to collect, those scars, a symptom of a position where you’re constantly throwing yourself in front of frozen discs of rubber.

They’re getting old, Kris thinks. Growing old with the team, with Sid and Geno, whom he always expected, but now also with guys like Rusty and Jake and Dumo. Here for the long haul, probably. Hopefully.

_Old._ Kris has thought about that word a lot since he turned 31 last month. He has to remind himself that he’s not really old, just _hockey_ old, but every change that’s happened lately seems to affect him a little more. Duper retiring, Flower moving out to the desert, Sid finally making it official with Geno and Anna. When he was younger, nothing could phase him, but now it seems like everything is in constant flux; he’s just staying the same as he always was, minus a few extra wrinkles and a couple new aches and pains.

God knows why he’s thinking about all this now. Maybe hanging out with Brian, still in his mid-20s...Kris remembers being 25. Sometimes he wishes he could go back.

Brian shifts, and Roo wakes up, blinking sleepily at him before dragging her big torso up and rolling over to Kris. “No, I don’t want you,” he whispers as she wedges herself next to him, but it’s no use. She wants _him_, and Kris supposes there are worse things in life.

“Fine,” he says quietly, scratching her belly. “Just for a few minutes. Then you move.”

Roo grunts happily, splaying her legs out for more pets.


	21. Chapter 21

When Brian wakes up again, there’s a subtle shade of purple in the sky indicating that evening is coming. Kris is still asleep next to him, with Roo draped over both their feet.

Shit. He really should have set an alarm.

On the bedside table, Kris’ phone is making noise, which is probably what woke him up. “Hey,” he says softly, gently elbowing Kris in the side. “Your phone is going off.”

“Ugh,” Kris mutters, rolling his face into the pillow. “Andy got me and Sid antibiotics. Check and see if that’s the alert for them?”

“Oh what, then you want me to pick them up for you?”

Kris raises his head, squinting out the window. “Probably too late for it now,” he says. “But if not, sure. Check for me? Code is 5556.”

Brian shakes his head, snagging Kris’ phone off the nightstand. He’s not as blase as Kris seems to be about another man going through his phone, that’s for sure. But he finds it quickly: Kris’ antibiotic is filled, but the pharmacy closed nearly an hour ago. “Sorry, you’ll have to go tomorrow,” Brian says, when another notification catches his eye.

He shouldn’t - he definitely _shouldn’t_ \- but Kris is back in a doze and Brian recognizes that notification. He drags down from the top and sure enough, there it is, a message from FetLife.

Not just a single message. 53 of them.

Brian’s not sure why he’s surprised, and he gently turns off the screen and sets it on the nightstand, feeling guilty for snooping. Of course Kris - a handsome Dom - would be flooded with interest and messages through FetLife. There’s a part of him, carefully quashed, that is throwing a jealous fit. It’s not _fair._ Kris never even thought about BDSM before this, and now he’s inundated with suitors, whereas Brian can’t seem to get a Dom to pay attention to him without offering money. They’re going to split apart, and Brian is going to be stuck having boring vanilla sex while Kris is in Montreal - 

Doing what? Being surrounded by pretty subs, men and women, doing whatever his heart desires? Yeah, that sounds about right.

It makes that whole ‘I love you’ fantasy even dumber, Brian realizes. He’s not special. He’s not bringing anything _unique_ to the table. Nothing that a hundred people, better looking than him and without the baggage of being teammates, can bring to Kris.

He can’t let this bitter jealousy show through, though. That wouldn’t be fair, not to Kris, who never promised him _anything_ past this. “Tanger,” he says, nudging Kris again. “No more sleep, c’mon. You should have some more soup.”

Kris blurts out something in French that sounds awfully rude. “Make it for me and then I wake up,” he grumbles.

“You’re the worst,” Brian says with a sigh, hauling himself out of bed to grab his pants. If only he could convince himself of that statement, things might be easier.

It’s quick to reheat the soup leftovers, and Kris somehow looks even more grumpy now that he’s freshly awake. “I thought I’d seen you the pissiest you’ve ever been on the ice, but I think this takes the cake,” he says, setting the steaming bowl in front of Kris.

Kris makes another obviously-rude remark in French, but he relaxes into a small smile at the food. “I need my beauty sleep,” he says, “But thank you. For the food. And everything else. I guess this is it, eh? Until training camp?”

“I mean, you have my number if you want to talk,” Brian says, and promptly kicks himself. _Talk?_ Who does that? “But uh, I mean yeah, pretty much. Unless you miraculously feel better tomorrow. After that I’m off to finally get a tan.”

“Tomorrow.” Kris leans back in his chair, looking contemplative. “Maybe I should keep you around tonight just in case I do. You know how long it’s been since I was woken up with a blowjob?” He pauses, just _looking_, and Brian tries not to blush under his gaze. “Ah, but probably not. You’ve been too nice anyway. And I just threw up again before I came out here.”

Brian crinkles his nose, swirling his soup with his spoon. “Great dinner conversation.”

“Hey, sorry. So pick another topic?”

“Mmm…” Brian eats a spoonful, thinking. “I dunno. You said you’re going back to Montreal soon?”

“Soon. I miss it. The sounds, the food, the people…”

_The people._ Abruptly, the FetLife notifications come back to him. “Meeting a lot of people in Montreal?” he asks lightly, against his better judgment.

“Maybe. Maybe not,” Kris says. “No plans yet.”

That’s probably a lie, Brian thinks, but it’s better not to know. Kris doesn’t owe him this information anyway. He needs to not dwell on it.

They eat the rest of the meal quietly, only broken up by Roo’s whines for scraps.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, with bilingual characters like Tanger and Duper, they will always be speaking French (even though I don't make it very explicit).

Brian sticks around long enough to make Kris a fresh batch of soup, and makes him drink a smoothie, and then puts him back to bed. Kris is still feeling chilled, so it _might_ be nice to have Brian in bed with him again - but he doesn’t ask. That feels like crossing the line, a bit.

When Kris wakes up, Brian is gone.

Really gone, down to the tropics to go on vacation and then to Boston. They won’t see each other for months. But most importantly, Kris is now going to have to find his own hookups, which is something he’s surprised to say he hasn’t missed. There’s a certain exhaustion in putting on your best face with strangers, slipping on the mask, being careful not to let anything genuine shine through. That’s not something he ever had to do with Dumo.

There _is_ that couple, the one in Montreal that’s willing to take him under their wing about BDSM, and after some hesitation, Kris decides to finalize plans with them. He grimaces when he sees the amount of notifications - god, 53, he hasn’t checked the damn thing in weeks - but the couple is still interested, so that’s good. Their names are Nathan and Zoe, and apparently they use English titles for their scenes. He’s ‘Sir’. She’s…’slut’.

Whatever floats their boat, Kris thinks.

They’re not the first people he sees when he gets into Montreal, though. After checking in on his downtown apartment, which has already been cleaned and the fridge stocked by Kris’ hired help, he heads to Pascal Dupuis’ house in an Uber. “God, it’s _you,”_ Duper answers the door with a mocking groan, as if Kris’ appearance is a surprise and not something they both planned. “Fashionably late too, I see.”

“As always,” Kris says, grinning and giving Pascal a hug. “How you been?”

Pascal pats him on the back before pulling away. “I’ll be better if Flower can pull this off,” he says. Kris usually wants to forget about hockey in the summer if they don’t win it all, but not this year. Marc-Andre is in the Finals, and game one is starting tonight. “Come on, I have some wine for you to try. Which you’ll need after the kids get through with you.”

Duper has four kids, and all of them are delighted to see Kris, who indulges them with a few minutes of floor hockey before his wife, Carole-Lyn, shoos them away. “No you can’t watch the game with Papa and Kris,” she tells them, to a disappointed chorus.

“Next time,” Kris promises, and kisses Carole-Lyn on the cheek before heading down to the basement man cave with Pascal and a fresh glass of wine in hand.

They’ve got the game on time delay, and Kris snorts when the Caps come on the screen, the announcer highlighting Ovechkin and their road to the Finals, including through the Penguins. “The Knights have got to win this,” Kris declares. If he wasn’t invested before, he sure is now, with the stark reminder of the loss. Besides, the Knights are a veritable cornucopia of ex-teammates and friends. “You talk to any of the boys lately?”

Duper shrugs. “Engo and I text sometimes. Perry, too. You know how I feel about Nealer, fuckin’ dumbass. But Flower and I talk a lot. You?”

“Pretty much the same. Been texting Perry and Flower just about every day. Giving them a little space right now though, let them get their heads in the game.” Kris takes a deep breath. “Flower knows how to win. He’s got this. I believe in him.”

“They deserve it,” Duper agrees. “Even Nealer. I guess. Start this game strong and go from there.”

Times like this, Kris remembers how much he misses Pascal in Pittsburgh. It’s the quiet friendship of watching a game together, and then the easy discussion through the breaks in play. It’s the teasing in the locker room, the support on the ice. The scenario surrounding his retirement still hurts Kris. Duper himself is very zen about the whole thing; calm, accepting, even cheerful. That’s who he _is._

Kris is a lot of things, but _zen_ has never been one of them. Just another way that Kris’ world keeps changing, and he stays the same.

The Knights start strong, but the Caps come roaring back, capped off with a goal by Tom Wilson to make it 4-3 for Washington. Kris can’t help the unflattering noise that comes out of his mouth when he sees the goal scorer. “I know,” Pascal agrees. “Fuck that guy.”

“Fuck that guy,” Kris echoes, and then suddenly, unbidden, there’s an image in his mind, clear as day. Brian’s naked on his knees, set atop his usual favorite pillow and his usual spot by Kris’ couch. But it isn’t Kris on that couch; it’s Tom Wilson, smug and smirking. _I liked it,_ Brian had said, but suddenly the vision derails, because nothing in Kris’ brain can conjure up Tom Wilson being gentle or soft. Instead, Tom grabs Brian by the hair, yanks his head back. “Slut,” he growls in Brian’s face, and - 

“Uh, earth to dipshit,” Pascal’s voice cuts through, and the image is gone, just like that. Kris blinks wildly, staring at Pascal. “What the fuck was that?”

“Huh?” Kris asks. “I, uh...nothing. What?”

“You zoned out. You’re not moping about the season, are you? I know it fucking sucks, but - “

“It’s not that.” Kris doesn’t know how the hell to explain this to Pascal, so he shakes his head. “It’s nothing.”

“Uh huh.” Pascal - ever the observant - looks skeptical, but nods. “They’re only down by one, Tanger. It’s not over yet.”

And it’s not. The Knights come back to tie, then to take the lead, and they end up winning 6-4. “Told you,” Pascal crows, standing up and stretching. “I’m gonna go take a leak. Want more wine?”

“Eh,” Kris says, giving a look at his still half-full glass from the last refill. “Go piss and I’ll tell you for sure when you get back.”

Pascal goes, and instead of watching Pierre McGuire blather on the post-game, Kris pulls out his phone. Something veers him towards Instagram - well, he _does_ need to take his traditional ‘back-in-Montreal’ photo and post it, but - that’s not what he’s looking for.

Brian doesn’t post a lot, but there are a couple pictures up. He’s in Martinique, from the location tags, which is sort of ironic; still surrounded by French speakers, except this time it’s not Kris. He’s shirtless in most, still pale white, a hint of a red burn running up his chest instead of a tan.

Kris smirks and shakes his head, filing that away for later. Kris has never seen a guy that gets so _red_ as Dumo, cherry-red in his cheeks during games and practices, and now of course not even able to tan, just to turn red.

Red _everywhere,_ that flush creeping down from his cheeks to his neck to his shoulders when he’s really turned on, when he’s just about to come - 

Kris shakes his head. That’s a useless piece of knowledge now, not something he’ll ever get to see again. Sid demanded that he _be good_ and he will, he’s not going to fuck around with his d-partner during the season.

In his last picture, Brian has a beer in his hand, surrounded by his boys. He looks trashed, his tongue sticking out gleefully. Shears is tucked up under one of his arms, looking equally wasted, but Kris doesn’t recognize any of the other men in the picture. All of them are shirtless, making that same dumb face with their tongues.

Tongues - _Kris_ has felt that tongue, his brain reminds him, and suddenly he’s watching Brian tongue at his cock, long slow swipes like he’s savoring it. Remembering the way it feels when he closes his mouth, starts sucking.

_Fuck_. He’s gotta get laid. “I’m gonna pass on the extra glass,” he tells Pascal when he returns. “Feeling a little antsy. Any good bars open up lately?”

“I have four fucking kids, you think I know about new bars and places to pick up?” Pascal rolls his eyes. “I did hear about this one place. La Voûte, some club or something downtown. I think it’s in an old bank vault. Anyway, it’s supposed to be all trendy and sophisticated and they’re selective about who they let in and it’s perfect for you, fuckface. So you haven’t changed, huh? Still out hunting for that perfect pickup?”

“They don’t have to be perfect,” Kris says, draining the last of his glass. “I’m only with them for one night.”

Pascal shakes his head. “Someday, you’re gonna find the love of your life, and you won’t even realize it til it’s too late. Then you’ll come crying and begging me for advice.”

“Like I would ever. Hey, you want to grab dinner on Wednesday and then watch the game together?”

“I’ll have to check with Carole-Lyn, but it’s a possibility for sure. You didn’t drive tonight, did you?”

“Hell no. Figured you’d try to get me drunk and take advantage of me, so I took an Uber. Don’t worry, I won’t be driving tonight.”

“In your fucking dreams,” Pascal retorts, pulling Kris in to a hug. “Have fun tonight, Tanger.”

“Thanks, Duper.”

Another Uber later and he’s heading downtown towards La Voûte. Pascal was right; it’s exactly Kris’ type of place. Upscale, funky, good looking people everywhere, interesting cocktails and a great looking space. There’s a line outside even for a Monday night, but Kris Letang doesn’t wait in lines in Montreal. He gets in right away and grabs a drink, letting the bass reverberate in his bones, settling into the familiar routine of being seen and casually looking at his options.

It’s barely ten minutes before someone gently touches his elbow. She’s beautiful, even with too much makeup on, pretty enough that Kris wonders if she models. With how thin she is, he’s betting she at least does it as a side-gig. Especially because she’s wearing a dress that probably cost four figures.

He makes just as much conversation as necessary, and then they’re on the dance floor, bodies everywhere, grinding together with the beat. She’s a great dancer. Of course she is. And she’s not shy about where she’s putting her hands, making her intentions quite clear.

Kris likes beautiful, confident women. This is exactly his type. And yet...something is off. He can’t quite put his finger on what, so he ignores it, leans in, and asks if perhaps she has a place close by they can go?

She does.

Her apartment overlooks Fontaine Park, so it’s close, and she smiles at him the whole ride back to her place. She smiles when he grabs her hips and pulls her dress off, smiles as he’s rolling the condom on. Too much lipstick, too much teeth, white and shiny and dentist-made.

He kisses her so he doesn’t have to look at that smile anymore, and forgets about it as he rocks in, letting the tight pleasurable heat push all other thoughts out of his mind. It’s the familiar sensation and smell of a woman underneath him, being inside her, and everything feels _right_ for the first few thrusts.

Then she tips her head back, away from Kris’ mouth, and ruins it all.

She’s vocal. She groans and moans and whines, and tells him how good his dick feels, and begs for more. It’s fucking distracting, but even worse is he doesn’t understand _why._ This is the shit he normally likes. Who doesn’t like a beautiful woman begging, or complimenting his cock?

“Shh, sweetie,” he murmurs at her, and she quiets for a moment but as his thrusts snap harder, as he’s getting close, she loses it again. _Yes, yes, yes_, she chants and just before he spills over the edge, he gets it. He gets what’s bothering him.

Of course, then his brain is whited out from the orgasm and he thinks about nothing for a long moment. “Did you come?” he asks her, and she nods, eagerly.

Kris isn’t sure if she’s lying. And that’s it: there was no sincerity in her cries of pleasure, no authentic bone in her body, at least not towards Kris. Fake, it’s all fake, a thin glossy veneer of honesty that’s no more than surface-deep. He realizes he doesn’t even remember her name. She told him; it wasn’t important.

He’s not feeling particularly satisfied when he leaves (she tries to give him her phone number; he accepts and promptly deletes it the second he’s out the door). He wants...he doesn’t even _know_ what he wants, and that irritates him. He takes a picture of Montreal’s bright lights on the cab back to his condo, and it’s a nice shot, artistically blurry. Might be appropriate for Instagram.

Brian’s page is still pulled up when he thumbs open the app. There’s a brand new video posted now of him stretched out in a hot tub, one of his friends perched on his lap, arm slung around Brian’s shoulders. They’re both holding beers, and they both look very drunk. In the background, Kris can see Shears, dancing to some music.

“Would you rather be _anywhere_ but here?” one of his nameless friends, the one behind the camera, remarks loudly.

Brian hesitates a split second, but grins. “Hell no,” he says. “This is paradise.”

The video pans over to the most perfect sunset that Kris may have ever seen. “I could just stay here forever, holy shit,” one of Brian’s buddies says.

Kris watches the video twice more, feeling his jaw clench a little harder every time. “Fuck,” he mutters.

“You okay?” the cabbie asks, peeking back over his shoulder.

_No._ “Of course. Never better,” Kris says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is an actual La Voûte, but I have never been there and am definitely exaggerating everything about it.


	23. Chapter 23

The hot tub is warm and comfortable as the sun slides down the horizon, chilling the air just enough for the contrast between it and the water to be extra-pleasing. Brian has long since polished off his last beer - one of many for the day, so many he’s lost count - and his buddy Matt, sitting in his lap, drains his bottle too. Brian watches Matt’s throat, bobbing as he swallows, and Matt gives him a wicked grin.

“Hey,” he says, drunkenly nuzzling against Brian’s jaw. “Wanna make out?”

“Naw, I’m too wasted, Matty,” Brian protests, holding him close. “Besides, last time we made out I’m pretty sure you gave me a cold.”

“You can’t prove that was me,” Matt says, gently nipping Brian’s ear. “C’mon, it’ll be fun.”

Brian inhales sharply at the little nip; he likes that, and Matt knows it from their years of friendship, having met back in juniors. They’ve never had sex, but there have been plenty of nights like this, drunk and kissing, once even grinding against each other until they both got off. He’s not really horny, but he craves being close to someone, and Matt has his body pressed tight. “Just a few minutes,” Brian relents.

The kiss is syrup-slow with lots of tongue. Matt tastes like beer; Brian knows he does as well. After a few minutes of unhurried kisses, Matt groans and buries his face against Brian’s neck. “Drunk,” he sighs, then mumbles something Brian can’t quite understand and stays there, his face crammed against Brian’s skin, seemingly having fallen asleep.

That sounds really fucking good, so Brian tilts his head back against the tub and closes his eyes. He drifts in and out of a light doze; at some point, the body pressed against him sighs and shifts to get more comfortable. This is awesome, he thinks, tightening his grip. It’s warm and there’s a pleasant breeze and Kris is on top of him, a nice heavy weight, and he feels so _safe._

“Oh my god you’re going to fucking drown,” a voice says in his ear, and he jolts awake, nearly toppling Matt off his lap. Shit - it’s Matt on top of him, not _Kris_. Did he really think for a moment that Tanger was here with him? Why in the hell? “Both of you are gonna drown. Idiots.”

Brian glances up blearily to see Conor, shaking his head. “Huh?” he asks, blinking rapidly, trying to ward off the sleep.

“You’re going to drown,” Conor says again, exaggeratedly pronouncing every word. “Come on Matty, out of the hot tub. And you, Dumo, we’re going to bed.”

“You can take _me_ to bed,” Matt, who’s also been roused awake, leers and winks.

Conor snorts. “You wish.”

Matt gives Brian one more last kiss and ambles out of the hot tub, dripping the whole way towards the beer pong table, which still has a crowd of guys around it. Brian lets Conor help him out of the tub, and pouts enough that Shears helps towel dry him off and get him out of his wet trunks.

“You owe me,” Conor informs him, grabbing hold of his hand. “C’mon, let’s go.”

“How are you not drunk?” Brian says, clutching Conor’s hand as they head to the bedroom they’re sharing.

“Oh, I’m definitely drunk. Just not sloppy like your ass is. Here, put some damn boxers on before you come to bed. If I have to wake up to you spooning me, you can at least not be naked.”

Brian’s not sure if the boxers he finds are exactly clean, but at least they’re clothes. He immediately curls himself around Conor in bed, who grumbles good-naturedly, but allows it. “Such a clingy bitch,” he teases.

“Mmhmm,” Brian says, setting his cheek on Conor’s shoulder. He tries to go back to sleep, and it should be easy, but he’s still thinking about the hot tub, the sense of contentment that settled deep in his bones when he thought for a split second that it was Kris there with him. He’s drunk enough that the secret-keeping part of his brain is broken, so after a moment of resisting through sheer will, he blurts out, “Can I tell you a secret?”

“Oh yeah,” Conor says, in a tone which Brian should recognize as a devious glee, but doesn’t.

“I think I fell in love with Tanger.”

Conor groans, gently nudging Brian off to sit up and turn on the light. “Dumo,” he groans. “Dumo, _no._ What did I tell you, man? What the hell did I tell you? Exactly this. I said, oh shit you’re gonna fall for Tanger, and you were all, ‘No I won’t! I would never!’ And now look at you! Is this why you were doing French lessons on Duolingo during the plane ride? Oh my _god.”_

“I _know,”_ Brian groans, shoving a pillow over his face, which Conor promptly rips off. “It’s soooo dumb. I’m a moron. But like, it is what it is.”

“No, fuck that,” Conor says. “How much time did you even spend with him outside of sex, anyway?”

Brian grunts; they’d spent plenty of time outside of the bedroom, but most of it was still tinged with submission and power dynamics. He’s not sure if that counts. “I mean, enough,” he says.

“Bullshit, I know that face. Here’s the deal: if you spent most of your time with him in bed, then you’re not missing Tanger. You’re missing that _good dick._ And buddy, there are plenty of dudes out there that aren’t Tanger that have good dick! Tell you what. Let’s go to sleep, and tomorrow night we’ll go out, and I’ll wing man for you. You’re gonna have a great time and forget all about him. Okay?”

“Okay,” Brian says, squinting at the light, which is starting to become annoying. “Fine, fine. You’re right. Let’s go to sleep.”

“I know,” Conor says smugly, but turns off the light and settles back down.

Maybe he _is_ right, because Brian is asleep in just a few minutes.


	24. Chapter 24

Kris has had infatuations before. A couple times growing up, once or twice in juniors. Men and women he could see himself spending the rest of his life with before snapping back to reality and realizing love was a fool’s game that always left you hurt. Even once, in the NHL...but that guy just ended up as one of his best friends, married to two Russians who love him. It’s better that way, he thinks.

What he _never_ expected was to get infatuated with his d-partner. Much less his d-partner who is a young, slightly-awkward American, and not exactly the epitome of Kris’ type.

That’s all it is though, an infatuation, and something he needs to get over. Okay, so the woman last night didn’t do it for him - that’s happened once or twice before, where he went home with someone he was sure he’d be into, and it fell flat for one reason or another. The best thing to do is get right back on it and pick up again. He’s sure that the second time will be the charm.

Before that, he heads to his training facility, something he knows will take his mind off this whole Dumo thing. He likes working out, likes pushing himself through the burn and the pain, likes testing his resolve. Kris does intervals in the morning, gets a massage right after lunch, and he’s feeling pretty good during his afternoon workout, which is a lot of core work and stretching. Until: “I’ve got some news,” his trainer - Michel - tells him, as he’s helping Kris into a deep leg stretch. “I’m moving soon. Andre’s been great, but I have the chance to open my own place, so I’m taking it.”

Andre is the facility’s owner, and the trainer Kris works out with most often, although he’s enjoyed working with Michel, too. “Well that sucks,” Kris says, blowing out a breath as the muscle starts to burn. “Where are you moving to?”

“America, if you can believe it. Boston.”

“Huh,” Kris says. Boston.

That’s where Dumo spends his off-seasons.

Shit, he really needs to stop letting every little thing remind him of Brian. It’s self-defeating, is what it is. “When are you moving?”

“Just a week or two. No time like the present, eh?”

“No time at all,” Kris agrees. The rest of the workout is calming, and by the time he’s done, he’s not thinking about Brian at all.

He meets up with some local friends for dinner, and he’s already buzzed on wine when they head out to one of the local bars. His friends know the drill, and they’re here for the same reason Kris is; they drift away and give him space when a man buys him a drink. The guy can be classified more as _pretty_ than _handsome,_ and that’s not usually Kris’ type in men, but what the hell? Time to switch it up, he thinks.

Plus, the guy is _awfully_ pretty.

They end up back at Kris’ place, but they don’t even make it to the bedroom. The guy - Henri, Kris makes sure to note his name this time - shoves him down on the couch, and rides him right there in Kris’ living room. It’s not quite ‘mind-blowing’, but it’s pretty damn good, enough for Kris to grip his hips and fuck up into him and not think about a single other thing besides getting off.

Henri doesn’t angle for Kris’ number afterwards, or even an invitation to stay the night, just washes up and gets the hell out with a smile. That’s always been Kris’ preferred type of hookup, and normally he takes a shower and goes to sleep, pleasantly happy in the post-orgasm glow and the confirmation of his life choices.

Tonight is different. He lays in bed, wide awake and blinking at the ceiling, feeling strangely off, and he can’t piece together why. The evening and the hookup was pleasant enough that he hadn’t thought of Dumo even once, and up until right about now, he’d been having a great time. So what happened? He wants…

What does he _want?_

His bed feels a little too cold, so he gets up and turns the air-conditioning down a tick, then flops back into bed with a groan. After an enjoyable evening with his friends and getting laid, he is definitely _definitely_ not thinking about Brian, so if his brain could just make up its mind about what it wants, Kris could probably get it.

By the time he falls asleep, he still hasn’t figured it out.


	25. Chapter 25

Martinique is beautiful, Brian’s with his best friends, and there is so much to do. He should be having the time of his life. And he is, except…

The island is French speaking. Every time Brian hears the language, he thinks of Tanger, which is damn unfortunate because he hears French a _lot._ When there’s a lull in the action, he thinks about what they did together, thinks about being on his knees, thinks about Kris’ stupid hot smile directed towards him. It’s fucking counterproductive, and Shears keeps giving him these looks ever since he got drunk enough to confess last night. Only one thing to do, then: drink more beer.

He’s got no secrets left to reveal, so why not get wasted again? It sounds like as good a plan as any. Brian lays on the sand, beer in hand, the condensation dripping coldly onto his thigh as he takes a break from the surf and watches his buddies ride a couple waves.

It’s not working, not yet. He idly watches Matty catching a nice-sized wave, wishes he were more like Matt, blissfully single and stealing kisses from friends and strangers alike without a care in the world. It’s one of his few regrets, that he never even got to kiss Tanger, but there is still plenty to remember and think about. Brian closes his eyes and tips his head back, thinking about big hands gripping him tightly, keeping him pinned against that chair. The murmur in his ear, warm breath against the skin, the way it felt to be taken without a condom. Going bareback was something he’d never done before as a bottom; he’s had a couple serious, long-term girlfriends, but never a boyfriend.

And still never a boyfriend. That definitely does not describe Kris, he thinks with a slight sour grimace, and takes a long sip of his beer.

“Dumo,” a voice comes, interrupting his thoughts. It’s Matt, with a wild and carefree grin, sand coating his wet legs, looking like a sugar cookie. “What are you doing? Get your ass back out here,” he hollers. “The beer will be here later, dude! Waves are fuckin’ _perfect!”_

“Oh, uh - yeah, man,” he says, sticking his beer in the sand. The waves _are_ perfect, just the right height to be a challenge but not impossible for his skill set. He zips up his wetsuit, hefts his board back up, and follows Matt back into the ocean.

He paddles out, the sea sparkling and brilliant blue, it’s beautiful - 

_Kris drapes over his body, thick and unyielding, and god he’s so beautiful. He’s the most beautiful man Dumo thinks he’s ever seen, much less fucked. That toy inside him is driving him crazy, but it’s nothing compared to the look that Maître has fixed him with. “Come on, chaton. Come for me, I know you want to…”_

\- the wave starts cresting, and Brian kicks it into gear, paddling hard, hard - 

_Hard, Maître is fucking him so hard. He buries his head in the sheets, tears and drool from the gag making the fabric instantly wet. Maître is going to come inside him, going to_ own _him._

\- he pops up, and he knows he’s caught it. Brian revels in the feeling, the sun glinting off his board, the cheers of his friends, the wave yanking him along for the ride, and then it crests - 

_The orgasm is a wave, bubbling up and cresting and crashing until he can barely remember his own name. He floats in the sweet headspace of submission, listens to Kris whisper a few words. He can’t make them out, but it soothes him anyway._

\- he’s falling. He tries for a controlled jump into the water, but he’s distracted and tumbles, the frothy bubbles going up his nose. It’s amazing how dark it gets, just a few feet underwater - 

_Dark. That’s the best way Dumo can describe Kris’ look when he comes, a dark, heated smolder that he knows he’ll never be able to forget. Maybe he’s been ruined for everyone else, but it was a good way to go, right?_

“Are you drunk, or tired?” one of his friends hoots at him as he drags himself up the beach. “That little wave wiping you out? C’mon.”

Brian pastes on a grin. “Tired of your shit is what I am,” he says, flopping down and trying to banish those awful thoughts of Kris. Not awful for what happened, but awful because he’ll never get it again, and he needs to stop moping. “How about you hand me a beer?”

“You already got one open.”

“So?”

“My _man,”_ his friend says, approvingly, cracking open a fresh one and handing both the half-drunk and the new one over.

Brian chugs his open beer, slightly flat and warm, and tries to think about anything but sex chairs and kneeling and French-Canadians.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is very different from the rest of the fic as it contains pain play and explicit hetero sex. Neither of these elements will occur again in this story, but they are important for this chapter.

Kris goes through two more evenings of somewhat-unsatisfying hookups before an email reminder comes through from Nathan and Zoe, that BDSM couple, and Kris responds right away. Maybe that’s it, he thinks; he’s just a little bored of vanilla sex right now, needs to spice it up. This will be perfect.

_What do I wear?_ he asks, probably the most important question. He’s never shown up underdressed for anything in his life, and he’s not about to start now.

_Black. Do you have anything leather?_ comes the reply, and - as a matter of fact, he thinks he does.

Hidden deep in his closet is what he’s looking for. A brief trend in the early 2010s, leather pants were in at the time, and Kris got six whole wears out of these (very expensive and tailored) pants before they were suddenly and tragically out of style. He always thought that was too bad; he’d gotten a _lot_ of attention in them. He’d tried to wear them a few times after the fad was over, but they always sent out the wrong vibes, and suddenly people were crawling all over him wanting to call him Daddy and wanting to be spanked, which had never been his typical craving. So he’d stopped wearing them.

How ironic it is now that he _does_ want to send out those vibes.

The pants are a little tighter than he remembers, but they still make his ass look pretty great. A nice belt, black boots, and a black shirt complete the ensemble. Nathan did say ‘all black’, so that’s what Kris is going to do.

The address of the place is an area in Montreal that he’s never been to. It seems to be all warehouses, and Kris has to double-check his phone to make sure he’s actually in the right spot. The building is completely non-descript; maybe that’s on purpose.

A bouncer meets him at the door, pats him down, and asks for his membership card. He gives them Nathan and Zoe’s information - he’s allowed inside as a guest - but has to sit down and fill out form after form of waivers and acknowledgement about their code of conduct. “Ah, you’re here. They told us you were out here signing your soul away,” a voice comes, and Kris looks up to see Nathan, smiling brightly at him. He’s wearing a similar outfit to Kris, except his boots are tall shiny shit-kickers, and instead of a shirt he’s wearing a...leather harness? It criss-crosses his chest, tiny metal studs embedded in a pattern along it.

Zoe is wearing even less. It’s a skimpy leather bikini, leather straps winding their way down her calves, and a collar with a big O-ring. She’s technically decent - _technically_ \- no nipples or genitals showing, but just barely. For a sub, she isn’t kneeling or bowed or cowering. In fact, she stands next to Nathan, proudly, almost like _she_ is the Domme.

“Hi. I’m Kris,” he says, standing and shaking Nathan’s hand. He hesitates for a moment with Zoe, but she sticks out her own hand insistently, so he does the same.

“Well, if you wanna become a member here, they’ll need to run a background check and you’ll need to fill out _more_ paperwork,” Nathan says. “But the first time is free as our guest. Come on, let’s get a drink. We’ll show you around and talk. Do you prefer English or French?”

“I can do either, but French if possible.”

“French it is,” Nathan says, switching easily. “We have a couple members who only speak one or the other, but that won’t be a problem for you if you join. Here, let me take you around.”

Kris’ initial impression is that the place is _big_. But of course it is; it’s a warehouse, based on what he saw outside. The whole thing has a very industrial feel, but very different from his expectations. Instead of low lights, moaning and screaming all around him, the place is actually fairly well lit. Most people are just standing around, laughing and talking, although Kris spots a few people - mostly women, a couple men - kneeling by couches next to their Doms. One woman is being held by a leash, and Kris can see a tail curling behind her.

In one corner are a number of free-standing wooden Xs, and in that spot is the only thing that Kris could rightfully call ‘obscene’ happening in the whole place: a man is strapped to one and getting flogged. It seems to be a gentle flogging, though, the Domme not putting much force behind it. If Kris really strains, he can just barely hear the snap of the tails.

“Not what you expected?” Nathan smirks, leading them over to what’s obviously a bar, another surprise.

“It’s kind of...tame,” Kris says, looking around again. “And I’m surprised you can drink here.”

“You’re limited in how many you can get, and the bartenders here are experts in picking out if you’re drunk. It goes without saying, but this isn’t a place to get wasted, even if you’re wearing a white band.”

“White band?”

“We’ll explain soon,” he says. “For now, pick your poison.”

Kris selects a light beer; he wants to be mostly sober for this. Nathan orders a Coke with the tiniest pour of rum that Kris has ever seen, Zoe gets a water, and then they situate themselves in a corner with comfortable leather couches. Nathan turns to Zoe, smirking. “So what do you think of our guest, dear?”

“I think we should show him a good time,” she says, grinning, and Nathan squeezes her knee.

“We’ll see,” he says, smiling. “Alright, Kris. Welcome. A couple rules, to get you started. First, this place operates under strict consensual norms. Just because you’re a Dom doesn’t give you the right to anyone, not even a sub. Especially not a sub, in fact. If you’re interested in playing with someone, you approach him or her like you would any other vanilla person in a bar. Introduce yourself. Ask their name. Don’t be creepy or assume they have to submit to you. If there’s a spark, maybe talk about what you’d like to do in a scene. Understand their limits, and make sure they understand yours. Know their safe word, and vice versa. Before we go further, what’s yours?”

“Mine?”

Nathan and Zoe exchange a look. “You said you played with a sub before, right? You exchanged safe words?”

“He gave me his,” Kris explains. “But I didn’t realize I should have one. Can’t I just stop it at any time? Why do I need it?”

“I always encourage Doms to have a safe word. Everyone should have a way to cancel a scene and get things back to normal if needed. Especially if you’re playing with a brat - those are subs that like to push you.” Nathan side-eyes Zoe, who grins, attempting to look innocent. “This one here isn’t _always_ as quiet and nice as she seems right now.”

“Best behavior for our guest,” she says, and laughs.

“I guess that makes sense. But my sub - “ Kris almost swallows his tongue. Brian’s not _his sub_ \- not anymore, not ever again. That’s why he’s here. “The sub I played with. He definitely wasn’t a brat. He just wanted to be good.”

“Even the sweetest subs have an occasional defiant day. Anyway, when you’re here playing with us, you’ll have a safe word. So think about it. Something you wouldn’t say under any normal circumstances in a scene. But something you’ll remember. Or - ”

“Boston,” Kris blurts out without thinking and internally kicks himself. He’d allowed himself to think about Brian for a second and he chooses _that_ as his safe word? Well, it’s too late now; he can’t go back on it without looking like a weirdo. Nathan and Zoe nod.

“That works. I was about to say, we use the traffic light system. Red for stop, yellow for slow down and caution, green for go. Especially when we’re doing any pain play, I check in with her quite often. I don’t want to injure her. But even if she says green, I use my best judgment.”

Zoe smiles. “When I’m down in subspace, everything tends to be green for me. Sometimes he has to pull me back. Did your sub ever go down?”

“Yes,” Kris says. “He was sort of...out of it. Like he was high. Agreed to things easily.”

“That’s subspace,” Zoe says. “It’s the best.”

“Now, for bands.” Nathan pulls out two rubber band bracelets - one black, one white - and sets them down in front of Kris. “We use colored bands to indicate your preference. Black means Dom, pink means sub, and blue means switch. White is for anyone who is not participating for the evening but wants to socialize and watch. You’re welcome to take a white band and do just that. But you can also pick black.” Nathan glances at Zoe with a smile. “You wouldn’t whip her, not tonight. You’ll get a demo from me on the proper techniques. But I can let you fuck her. She’s been anal training to orgasm with no other stimulation, so I wanna see how she does. Plus she’s so pretty when she takes a cock. But it’s up to you. No pressure at all.”

Kris glances down at the two options in front of him, takes a sip of his beer, and grabs the black band.

Zoe lights up and practically bounces in her seat. “You’ve made my little slut very happy,” Nathan laughs. “Condom use is required for everything. She likes being spanked; I’ll show you the places to avoid while I’m training you on flogging. Anything you in particular want to do before we get started? Or definitely no-gos on your part?”

“Uh - “ Kris frowns. “Not that you mentioned this, but like...body fluids? Not come, that’s fine. But everything else.”

“What about spit? Sometimes I’ll spit on her.”

That does not sound appealing to Kris at all, but it’s not a deal breaker. “I don’t want to spit on her, but I don’t mind if you do.”

“Perfect.” Nathan stands up, and his friendly and easy demeanor shifts suddenly into something more serious. “Ready to get started?”

“If you are,” Kris says, and Nathan jerks his chin upwards at Zoe.

“You going to be a good girl for Master Kris today, slut?”

Zoe hums, but stands up obediently. “Yes, Sir. What do I get for being good?”

Nathan swats her on the behind, sighing. “See?” he tells Kris. “Even when she’s good, she tests me. Keep it up, slut, and _nobody_ will be fucking you today. See how you like it.”

Zoe pouts, but keeps her mouth shut, and they both follow Nathan through a door and into a corridor. _Now_ Kris can hear noises: someone is moaning and pleading. It’s muffled, but obvious. “You’re discouraged from fucking out in the main area,” Nathan explains. “Blowjobs are okay, but if you know you’re going to fuck, you come back here. There’s all sorts of rooms for pretty much every fetish, and if you go all the way down the hall, there’s a couple of big spaces. That’s for gangbangs or for those with a public sex kink. Those spaces are always free for watching. I reserved a private room for us, though.”

Kris glances inside the open doors on their way down the hall, and Nathan wasn’t kidding; each of them are set up a little different. One of them looks almost like a doctor’s office, stirrups and a padded medical bed. Another of them is...a nursery? Inside is a giant crib, stuffed animals, a rocking chair. Kris isn’t sure he wants to know what happens in _there._

The room they enter is much more what Kris had expected. There’s an elaborate padded bench which has a space for kneeling, a few attachment points scattered around the room, and a large thick bar suspended from the ceiling. There’s also a small table with a briefcase, and Nathan crosses the room to open it up; inside are floggers and other instruments that all look like they’d be painful. “These are my personal toys,” Nathan explains. “The club has a number of items available to check out, but I always prefer to bring my own. Alright slut, I’ll let you choose today: where do you want to be tied up? The bench, the wall, the pole?”

Zoe bites her lip, thinking. “Sir, what do you plan to use on me?”

“Let’s ask our guest.” Nathan turns his attention to Kris, eyebrows up. “What looks good to you?”

Kris steps up and surveys the options. The paddles are okay, but somewhat bland; the bullwhip looks horrifying. He points out a flogger with what looks like roses on the end. “How about that one?”

“Oh, one of my slut’s favorites. Good choice. Ever used something like this before?”

“My sub - uh, the sub I played with. He didn’t like to be hit,” Kris says.

Zoe scoffs from behind them. “That’s no fun,” she says, and Nathan whirls on her.

“Awfully mouthy tonight,” he scolds. She doesn’t look phased. “Do you need something in your mouth, slut? How about this one?” He leans over and chooses a big, red ball gag, and now she pouts.

“I hate that one,” she says.

“This isn’t supposed to be enjoyable for you,” Nathan fires back. “I’m trying to help you be good so you can get your reward and get fucked later on by Master Kris. Now, open up.”

She takes a deep breath, complains no more, just opens her mouth and lets Nathan fit the gag inside. It barely fits; Kris can hear her teeth scrape against the plastic. She moans as Nathan buckles the straps behind her head. “You did this to yourself,” he says. “And I guess you don’t get to choose where you want to be tied to now, either. You get the pole. Hands up.”

Based on her expression, that is not the one she would have chosen, but she obediently puts her hands up while Nathan buckles her wrists into the straps dangling down. “The pole sucks because you can’t rest on anything,” he explains. “You can lay on the bench and lean on the wall. But the pole, here? Just gotta stand there and take it. That’s what happens when you’re a mouthy slut, though.” He gives her a firm spank across one cheek. “You said you started learning rigging too, right?”

“Pardon?”

“Ropes. If you prefer ropes to cuffs, you’re a rigger.”

“Uh, yeah,” Kris says. “That guy - the sub I played with. He really enjoyed being tied up. So I learned a bit for him, and ended up liking it myself.”

“After we’re done tonight, before you go home, I’ll teach you an intermediate tie and send you home with instructions. You can practice, and come back and try it out. For now, here,” Nathan says, handing over the flogger that Kris selected. “Don’t use it on her, but give it a whoosh through the air. Test the feel and the weight. Listen to the noise it makes. What do you think?”

Swishing the flogger through the air is actually kind of fun. It’s a nice heavy weight in his hands; makes him feel powerful. “Nice,” he says, handing it back over, suddenly cheerful that he’s made the right decision. Apparently he likes this kind of impact stuff, and since Brian doesn’t, there’s no use in pining anymore; he can find a nice French girl or boy and play with them instead.

Nathan carefully goes through the parts of the body to be freely flogged (upper back, buttocks), to be avoided (spine, joints, head, neck), and everything in between. He also goes through the actual technique, what to do, what to be careful of. It’s a _lot_ of information, and Kris feels slightly overwhelmed when Nathan asks, “Ready for me to demonstrate? Step back and make yourself comfortable while I take my little girl apart. Slut, what’s your color?”

She can’t talk, but holds up one finger instead. “When she’s gagged, we use the finger system. One means green, two is yellow, three is red. I’m not going to push her limits today - she’s a little pain slut - but I’ll still check in with her.” He steps forward, grabs Zoe’s long hair, and yanks it back as she shrieks around the gag. “Here’s what you’re going to do for me tonight, whore. You’re going to stand here and be a good girl for your Sir and take whatever I give you. Be _still._ Don’t fidget. If you’re a good girl I’ll lower this bar so you can bend over. I’ll take that plug out of your hungry ass and then Master Kris is going to fuck you and if you’re _really_ good, I’ll take out that gag and replace it with my dick because I know you love taking as many cocks as you can. Do you understand?”

Kris can see tears forming in Zoe’s eyes from the grip that Nathan has on her hair, but she blinks them back and nods, making a noise of assent around the gag.

The first smack of the flogger is louder than Kris expected in the tiny room, and he nearly jumps. Zoe stays quiet, but Kris can hear her breathing through her nose, heavier and heavier as the flogging continues. Her skin pinks up rapidly, then reddens, and she starts making noises. Moaning at first, soft groans around the ball gag, then little shrieks in the back of her throat. But through it all, she stays still.

“Good girl,” Nathan praises, petting gently down her flushed back and ass, then suddenly pinches, drawing a yowl. “You’ve been so good I’m going to ungag you. Let Master Kris hear those screams.”

Kris realizes, very suddenly, that he does _not_ actually want to hear more screams, that he is not really enjoying this at all. Nathan gently unbuckles the gag and quietly checks in with her: “green,” she gasps, so somehow she’s enjoying this even through her tears and yelling. It seems almost incomprehensible to Kris, that this would be pleasurable for her, that Nathan is obviously hard, even in the face of her pain.

Although, he supposes, that is probably _why_ he is hard.

With the gag off, she is a healthy screamer. Although her tone of voice is pained and high-pitched, her words contradict everything Kris would expect: she’s saying yes, she’s pleading for more. He finds himself sunk back against the wall, wishing this all would be over, finding it hard to reconcile that the pain is causing pleasure. When Nathan finally finishes, his heart is hammering in his chest. “She’s had enough for tonight, I think,” he says, arching an eyebrow at Kris. “More intense than you expected?”

“You could say that.”

“Did you still want to fuck her? You can back out, but she’s certainly looking forward to it. As am I.”

_Fucking_ is at least something he can be competent at here, especially now that the screaming has stopped. He’s not hard, though. “Before I do, I’d like to see her kneel,” he says to buy himself some time. “Maybe suck my dick a little.”

“A Dom that likes a sub on her knees,” Nathan chuckles. “I get that. Take a look at this.”

Nathan strides over to the wall and a lever hanging there, and the bar that Zoe is attached to - currently hanging above Kris’ head - starts lowering down. She goes with it, curling in on herself until the bar is low enough that she can get to her knees. Her arms are still suspended over her head. “Ask nicely, slut,” Nathan commands.

She looks up at Kris from her knees, blinking at him through clumpy eyelashes. Her makeup is running, messy black around her eyes, one dark streak down her cheek. Her lips are red and bitten-up. “Please, Master Kris,” she says, her voice hoarse from screaming. “Please fuck my mouth.”

“And then?” Nathan prompts.

“Then my ass. Please,” she finishes.

Kris looks up at Nathan, who fishes a condom out of his pocket and tosses it over. “Even for a blowjob,” he says. “But don’t be afraid to really fuck her face, choke her out. She loves it.”

Shit - he’s going to need to be harder if he wants to put on a condom. She does at least look beautiful like this, all debauched and on her knees, and if Kris tries to forget what just happened, he can get into it. He likes people kneeling down and looking wrecked and torn apart. He knows that from Brian.

The image comes, and he shouldn’t but he lets it, because he needs all the help he can get right now. It’s Brian down there on his knees, arms suspended on the pole. He’s naked - no...he’s wearing the little black leather bottoms that Zoe is, leather straps wrapped around his long legs, fabric bulging from his hard dick. Brian’s trying not to fidget from the big plug in his ass, and he’s cherry-red, his cheeks down to his chest, and his eyes are pink from crying. Not from being whipped, not _that_, maybe Kris fucked his face and he’s waiting for more, or maybe - oh - Kris has edged him, just like he planned, brought him to the brink of orgasm over and over and over and not let him come.

Maybe he’d look good wearing makeup, nothing like Zoe has on, just a little eye makeup to watch it run down his face, or a little lipstick to watch it smear around Kris’ cock while he sucks.

Well...he’s hard now, at least. He leaves his belt buckled, just unbuttons and snaps open his leather pants to free his cock, and rolls the condom on. Zoe moans when he brings it out, like she’s seeing a treat, and that’s good - he can forget about Brian, focus on her.

That focus is easier when she gets her mouth on his dick. She’s _talented,_ and that’s saying something for as many mouths have been on Kris’ cock and the fact he’s wearing a condom. “Shit,” he curses, and Nathan chuckles.

“Talented little cock-sucker, isn’t she? I trained her right. If you ever want a permanent sub, it’s the best thing about them. Training them to be perfect in every way for _your_ dick. Don’t be afraid to grab her hair, now.”

He does grab her hair, and she moans, looks up through those messy lashes. When he pushes into her throat she barely gags, just takes it, drooling the whole time. Nathan is smiling like he’s proud, which is - well, Kris doesn’t usually go for this whole ‘sharing’ thing, but right now it’s good.

She brings him to the edge quicker than he’d expect, the flogging all but forgotten in the wake of a skillful blowjob, and he shoves her head away, panting. “That’s enough,” he says, roughly. “I still need to fuck your ass, right?”

“Yes please, Master Kris,” she says, licking her mouth.

“She’s plugged up about 20 hours a day,” Nathan grins. “I can fuck her ass almost as easily as her pussy now. We’ve been working on having her orgasm just from anal, on my command.”

“I read about that,” Kris says, thinking back to the research he’d done for Brian. “But I never really thought...I mean, was it difficult?”

“The training? A lot of time, a lot of patience.” Nathan strolls over and gives her hair a firm tug, and she lets out a yip and a moan. “The first step is that your sub gives over all control of their orgasms to you. Full and complete trust. If that trust is there, you’ll get there eventually. But we can go over that later. For now…” He indicates Kris’ hard-on, which has flagged just a little from talking. “I’ll get her plug out and reposition her. There’s lube and syringe over on the table. She doesn’t need much help getting opened up, a little goes a long way.”

By the time Kris gets the lube opened and into the syringe, the bar has been raised to her chest height, and Zoe is now on her feet and bent over, clutching the bar for support. Her black panties are split open in the back - apparently there were snaps that Kris failed to see - and Nathan is gently caressing her face, a tender look in his eye. “What do you say, my slut,” he coos.

“Thank you, Sir,” she whimpers.

He slaps her across the face, not a full hit, but enough to startle Kris. “Keep going,” Nathan says.

“Thank you, Sir. Thank you for sharing me. Thank you for letting Master Kris fuck my ass. Please allow me to have your cock in my mouth.”

Kris takes a deep breath, hoping he won’t hit her again, and presses the syringe into her ass. She _is_ already open and wet; she doesn’t need much more, but Kris gives her two slow fingers anyway before Nathan gives the okay.

He takes a deep breath, concentrates on her pretty ass, her long sexy legs. It could maybe even be Brian here with these legs that go for days, except for the fact that Zoe’s end in high heels.

High heels - what would Brian look like in _high heels - _

Fuck.

She moans as Kris pushes into her, but that’s quickly cut off by Nathan shoving his dick into her open mouth. The first thing he does is pinch her nose shut, so she chokes on it; he seems to love it, does it over and over to watch her wretch and gasp for breath. Every time it happens, she squeezes around his dick, a delicious tight wet heat that makes it easy to forget all the flogging that happened earlier, and all thought about Brian in high heels.

They must have some silent signal between them, because Nathan suddenly asks, “You want to come, slut? You’re ready?” She nods furiously, pleading, and he strokes her hair, suddenly gentle. “Come for me after my countdown then. 10 - 9 - 8…”

He counts down from ten, and after he reaches ‘one’ there is a pause, and then she’s shaking and clenching around his cock, little spasms going through her body. “Yes, Sir!” she cries, even though Kris is the one fucking her. That hits him somewhere deep in his hindbrain, the idea that she can orgasm just from his command, that she links her pleasure so deeply to him. Kris has never been interested in the idea of attachment, but this, this _connection_ they have - 

His orgasm hits him hard, and she moans again as he clutches her hips, pumps out his orgasm into the condom at the same time that Nathan spills on her face. There’s a collective pause, a deep breath from the group, and then Nathan bends down, petting down her shoulders. “You did good,” he praises. “Everything feel okay? Color?”

“Green,” she says, and she sounds far away, like Brian does after their scenes. Floaty, sweet and satisfied.

Kris steps back to discard the condom and watches Nathan go through aftercare with interest. He leaves, only to quickly return with a Gatorade, a fun-sized Snickers bar, and some cut fruit. He releases Zoe, wipes her face, carefully inspects all the areas where he flogged, and helps her out of her shoes. There is a tiny couch in the corner of the room, and they retreat there so Nathan can hold her close and feed her, making her take small sips of the liquid. “Aftercare is super important,” he says. “Especially after flogging or any kind of pain. You want to double check that there are no open wounds, but otherwise whatever aftercare you do is dictated on what your sub needs. Zoe hates having her shoes on afterwards, so I always take them off. And don’t forget your needs, too - aftercare is just as much for _you._ I don’t usually need much, but sometimes, after a particularly intense session…”

Kris shrugs. “My sub just liked to nap it off and cuddle.”

“A perfectly valid aftercare,” Nathan laughs. “Give us a few minutes, I’ll teach you that rope tie. What did you think, anyway?”

“I’m not sure - “ Kris hesitates; he doesn’t want to seem like a baby here. But Nathan and Zoe’s whole relationship seems to be predicated on open honesty, and he can respect that. “I’m not sure I was really into the whole _flogging_ thing, really. I didn’t like the screams. The idea of causing my sub pain, I - I dunno.”

“You could have safeworded out.”

“It wasn’t that bad.”

“Okay,” Nathan says, taking Kris’ word at it. “How about next time we just work on ropes, then? There’s plenty to teach there. And I can always give Zoe a good whipping after you head out instead.”

“That would be great. Uh - you said something else? About, um. Training. If I ever got a permanent sub - the whole training to be perfect for your pleasure. Can you tell me more about that? Like, what you did?”

Zoe chuckles, so she seems to be coming back up, and Nathan grins at her. “Oh yeah, my favorite part. You got your eye on someone, huh? Well, I can talk about this all night. How much time do you have?”

“As much as you’ll give me.”

Nathan laughs. “Once Zoe’s up a little more, we’ll move back out to the couches in the main lounge. Then I’ll tell you _all_ about the beauty of getting your own sweet submissive. Sound good?”

“Perfect,” Kris says.


	27. Chapter 27

“So who looks good to you?”

Brian startles at the question, spoken directly into his ear by Conor. “What? What do you mean?” he asks, switching his cold beer from one hand to the other as it drips condensation down his wrist.

Conor motions to the crowd that Brian had been watching. They’re in a breezy island bar, open to the outside, the sun setting in the distance, and there are a lot of beautiful people here. There’s a DJ setting up a dance floor, so the time for conversation is quickly dwindling before the music will be too loud to talk over. “I told you I was gonna wingman you tonight, and you can bet your ass I am.”

Brian snorts; he’d nearly forgotten about that. “Oh. Naw, it’s okay. I’m down here to have fun with you guys, not get laid.”

“Normally I’d agree with you, but I _cannot_ let you go back to the States still in love with Tanger,” Conor declares. “So pick someone. And I’d suggest making it a guy, so you can remember there’s plenty of other good dick in the world.”

Brian sweeps through the place with his eyes, looking at his options. There are multiple objectively hot people in here, but none of them look particularly intriguing to him. Fuck, he’s got it bad. “I dunno, man,” he finally says, and Conor throws up his arms, frustrated.

“Fine, I know you better than you know yourself anyway. Wait here,” Conor says, slipping off his bar stool and disappearing into the crowd.

One of his friends, who had been listening in, leans over. “Does Shears actually know your type?” he asks. “Man, what _is_ your type?”

French-Canadian, apparently, although Brian doesn’t say that. “Who the hell knows,” he says instead.

Brian goes through another beer and a half before Conor returns. “Follow me,” he demands. “Bring your beer.”

“For fuck’s - Shears, what did you do now?”

“Trust me.”

Brian doesn’t try to even hide his audible groan, but he picks up his beer and follows along dutifully. There’s so many people that Brian can’t tell who Conor is headed for until they’re practically right on top of him. “Hey, Aaron,” Conor greets, and Brian is pleasantly surprised. The guy is hot - not like Tanger (okay, he _really_ needs to stop that) but more like...Leon Draisaitl. In fact, if Brian squints just right, he sort of looks like Leon. Strong jaw, really nice hair, classically handsome. He’s tall; not quite Brian’s height, but then again very few people are. Still, he’s probably 6’2 or so, and that’s closer to Brian’s size than most non-professional athletes, and he sort of likes that. Something Conor apparently knows, the little shit.

“You must be Brian,” Aaron says, sticking his hand out for a shake. “The dance floor is about to open up and none of my friends are into it. Conor here says you’re pretty good.”

“Conor is greatly exaggerating,” Brian tells him, shaking his hand. “But uh, I do like to dance. So if you’re looking for a dance partner…”

“Oh hey, I’ll be right back,” Conor says, which Brian knows is just a lie to leave them alone. He disappears through the crowd and he’s left alone with Aaron, who is smiling warmly at him.

Okay. Maybe this could work.

They buy each other a drink, and Brian feels awkward dancing with Aaron - who is a really fucking good dancer - but Aaron seems to be into it. They take a break, both of them flushed and a little sweaty, to grab another beer. “Man, I’ve never been with a guy taller than me before,” Aaron says with a grin. “Same for you? Although you said you’re a pro athlete...you go for other guys in your league?”

“Technically not allowed, although everyone ignores that rule,” Brian says. “But we’re not the NBA. 6’4 is actually pretty tall for my league. There’s only one guy on my team taller than me, and he’s 6’7. I tried to make a move on him, but…”

“But?”

Brian shrugs. If they’re gonna fuck, might as well get it all out there. “We’re both bottoms,” he says. “Actually, you know that friend of mine, Conor? They hooked up instead.”

“Isn’t Conor, like…” Aaron drops his hand down near the floor. _Short._

“Officially listed as 5’8, but there’s no way in hell.”

Aaron laughs. “Man I would have loved to see that,” he says.

“Right?” Brian laughs along, and then shrugs. Okay - Conor wants him to forget about Tanger, he’s going to really need to put it all out there. He’s not going to get ropes with a hookup, but he can at least get something. “Too bad, you know? I was looking for a bigger guy to just hold me down and...and...you know. Make me take it.”

“Ooh,” Aaron says, all the mirth dropping from his tone. “I mean, I’m not 6’7, but…” He grabs the front of Brian’s shirt, gathering it into a fist and yanking. “Pretty sure I can fit that bill for you.”

Brian licks his lips, a thrill going up his spine. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. You know, I got a hotel pretty close by here. My own room. I can show you.”

“I’m ready when you are.”

They polish off the rest of their drinks, and although Conor’s nowhere to be seen, a couple of his friends spot him and make obscene gestures, drunkenly giggling. “Idiots,” Brian shakes his head as they call a cab.

“Well they’re not _wrong_, I guess,” Aaron says, circling an arm around Brian’s shoulders. He’s just tall enough that it doesn’t feel awkward, and Brian shuffles a bit closer, enjoying the touch.

The hotel is one of the nicer resorts, and while the room is on the smaller side, it’s private and it fits the bill for what they want to do. There’s not a lot more small talk once they get inside; Brian ends up on his knees on the bed, face down, both hands twisted behind him as Aaron keeps ahold of his wrists while they fuck. It might not be ropes, but it’s still a kind of bondage, and Brian enjoys it more than any hookup he’s had in years. “That was amazing,” he tells Aaron afterwards, who looks smug.

“Thanks,” he says. “Are you hungry? I’m starving. I can order anything off the menu at any time for free, so I’m gonna eat a pizza. Want anything?”

“Sure.”

They order a silly amount of room service, eating and chatting, and Aaron reclines back looking regretful when he’s done. “Shit, ate too much,” he says. “Too bad. Kinda wanted round two. Not every day I get to top a pro athlete. Maybe…”

“Hmm?”

“I mean, the breakfast buffet is pretty good here,” Aaron says with a shrug. “So if you wanna stay we can get some breakfast and then I can fuck you again before you go back to your place.”

Brian swallows the last bite of his pizza, humming. “I dunno,” he says.

“Well, do whatever you want.”

“I just mean if I’m gonna get down on my knees and have you fuck my face, we better do that _before_ breakfast.”

Aaron blinks. “Yeah,” he says, almost breathless. “Yeah, I wanna see what you look like on your knees for me.”

Brian smiles, trying to not reveal exactly how excited that statement makes him. “That could be arranged,” he says.


	28. Chapter 28

“Kris, are you listening?”

Kris is not, as a matter of fact, listening. “No. I’m sorry,” he says honestly. “I’m just distracted. Hit me from the top, I’ll pay attention this time.”

Marie doesn’t sigh; she is far too professional for that, and probably used to dealing with Kris’ shit. Kris has been working with her as part of his agency team for years now, and she handles all his sponsorship requests and off-season media. “Well, do you want to skip going over the items that I don’t think are a good fit for you?” she asks. “I can leave the info, and you can review at your leisure.”

“No,” Kris says. “If you just leave them, I’ll never go through ‘em. And who knows, maybe there’s something interesting.” There almost never is. Marie knows him well enough by now that she’s pretty good at picking out what he wants to take on, but maybe he needs a change of scenery, something different. Ever since he’s gotten back to Montreal, he’s been a little restless. The only thing that’s truly calmed his mind is going to the gym and working out.

And practicing the knots that Nathan taught him the other night, oddly enough.

He listens as she goes through the opportunities. A number of companies want him for local ads: a bar, an HVAC company, a car dealership. Based on their terms, he passes on them all, just as Marie suspected he would.

“There’s another invite from Warrior this year to come try out their new lines of gear,” she says, and Kris sighs.

“I only like their gloves, I keep telling them. And there is no chance in hell I’m going to Detroit in my off-season to try their gear. Tell them to make it Hawaii, and I’ll come.”

“Oh, it’s not in Detroit this year.” She frowns, flipping a few pages. “That’s right, it’s Boston. I guess they’re building a new facility there. But I’ll tell them - “

“Wait. Boston? When?”

She takes out the relevant information and lays it in front of him, neatly printed, with important dates and times and places already circled. “About two weeks away. 17 days, to be exact.”

“Hmm.” Kris taps the paper in front of him, thinking. There’s been no thought - no _serious_ thought, anyway - before this to going to Boston, to chasing after Dumo. That would be a terrible, stupid, ill-advised move. He knows that.

But if he had reason to visit Boston, and just _happened_ to see Brian while he’s there…

Just one more time. Show Brian all the fancy new knots he’s learning, get it all out of his system, and be done with it forever.

“I could do Boston,” he says slowly.

Marie is enough of a professional to hide her surprise. “I’ll email you the full details,” she says, “And will alert them of your RSVP. Shall we continue?”

“Sure,” Kris says.

He doesn’t manage to hear another word she says for the rest of the meeting.


	29. Chapter 29

Brian hooks up with Aaron again in the morning, and it’s another good time. Aaron lives in Phoenix; unfortunately not a city the Penguins visit often, but Brian happily exchanges digits and promises to text him when they’re in town next.

The entire group wolf whistles when he strolls back in during lunch, and two of his buddies pretend to hump each other. “Can you not,” Brian laughs. “You sick fucks.”

“So. Good dick?” Conor asks with a smirk.

Brian’s smile gives it away, and the group hoots again.

They only have two more days of vacation, and Brian enjoys them both immensely, mostly not thinking of Kris at all. He could start slow, he realizes; find a big top that likes to hold people down. From there, it’s probably an easy transition to ropes and bondage. He knows he’s going to have to wade through a cadre of guys who equate holding people down to being _rough_ \- something he doesn’t want - but it’s doable, he realizes. There’s someone out there for him, someone he can love _and_ who is sexually compatible. Finding them suddenly doesn’t seem as far away as it once did.

On the plane ride back, he goes to delete Duolingo on his phone, but hovers his finger over the button, unable to make himself do it. French might be useful, he eventually figures, keeping the app. Even if he and Tanger are over - or never even existed, more accurately - it’ll be a useful skill in the locker room. And who knows when a French-Canadian suitor might fall into his lap?

It’s a whirlwind when he gets home, so he doesn’t have time to think about any romantic prospects. His summer league starts soon, so he makes the quick trek from Boston to his parents’ house to collect Roo from them, and stays for a short visit. Back in the city, he goes grocery shopping, opens up his off-season apartment, unpacks all the clothes and hockey gear he’d sent along from Pittsburgh, and makes sure nothing was lost. All of that, just in time to hit the Foxboro Pro League’s preseason mixer.

The FPL is a combination of NHLers, minor leaguers, and college guys that spend their off-seasons in Boston and want some high level hockey over the summer and as expected, there’s an entire cadre of Boston College alumnus that Brian went to school with. The mixer takes place in a bar, closed to the public, and the team lists are distributed alongside plenty of booze. Brian’s team is pretty solid, with lots of NHLers from Kyle Palmieri to Johnny Gaudreau. It takes less than two hours for Johnny to get completely shit-faced, at which point he starts demanding a piggyback ride from Brian.

“I’m gonna be carrying our team on the ice, you should carry me now,” Johnny tells him.

“I’m too old for that shit.”

“You used to give me piggyback rides in college!”

Brian laughs. “In _college!_ Back when I was young and stupid and not afraid of throwing my back out. And you were like a twig back then. What did you weigh, like 130? I had girlfriends that weighed more than you.”

“I bet Brian fucking Boyle will carry me.”

“You should definitely ask him, then...okay,” Brian trails off as Johnny doesn’t even let him finish the sentence, turning and stalking away. Suddenly there’s someone by his elbow, and Brian glances over to see Noah Hanifin.

Noah’s another BC alum, although they never played together; Brian had been out of college for two years by the time Noah was a freshman. Still, they’ve seen each other at Eagles reunions and have met once or twice before. “He is _so_ drunk,” Noah says, shaking his head in wonder. “Is that a typical thing? You guys played together at BC, right?”

“Yeah, pretty typical. Just can’t hold his alcohol. He’s a great guy, though. Excited that he’s on my team.”

“Dude, your team is stacked.”

Brian scoffs, glancing around the room. _“Eichel’s_ team is the stacked one,” he says. “Hey, yours is pretty good too. You actually have an NHL level goalie. Plus Kreider and Coyle? That’ll be a fun group at least.”

“We’ll see.”

Brian has continued to casually watch Johnny’s quest for a piggyback ride, and Boyle laughs loudly and clearly rejects him. “Uh oh,” Brian says, as Johnny turns and spots Kevin Hayes. “Now I know he’s trashed. He’s gonna go ask Haysie for a piggyback ride.”

“What’s the story there?” Noah asks.

“Kevin was on our team at BC, too. They kind of had a thing. I mean, you know how it goes. I don’t know the full story, but I guess one of them fell in love, and the other didn’t, and the breakup was kind of messy. And - oh.” Brian watches as Kevin immediately picks up Johnny, who shrieks and whoops in glee. “Guess Johnny’s not the only one making bad decisions tonight.”

“Hey, summer boyfriends, right? You know everyone here is looking for one.”

_Not everyone_, Brian’s about to say, but then he realizes out of the blue that Noah might be hitting on him. “Uh...oh? Hanny, are you looking for one?”

“Keeping my options open,” Noah says, casually setting his hand on Brian’s elbow, and okay. Definitely hitting on him.

Brian turns away from Johnny and Kevin to give more of his attention to Noah, smiling. He doesn’t usually go for the flings that these summer leagues are known for, but - why not, if he and Noah click? “So what are you looking for?”

“I mean, nothing serious,” Noah says, taking a sip of his beer. “Definitely just a summer thing. We don’t even have to go exclusive or whatever, just sort of a if-we’re-both-horny type sitch. I just broke up with my girlfriend at the end of the season, so I figure I’ll just have fun before starting to date again in the fall.”

“Yeah, I’m not seeing anyone either,” Brian says. “But no, I mean...what do you _like?”_

“Oh,” Noah laughs, startled. “You’re picky, huh?”

“I have preferences.”

“Don’t we all.” Noah snorts, then shrugs, looking down at his beer bottle. “I’m pretty versatile. I like everything. If it comes down to it, I prefer to top.”

“Oh yeah?” Brian’s eyebrows shoot up; it’s the opposite of what he expected. “No, that’s good, I prefer to bottom. I mean I’m the same, I’ll do both, but if I get to pick, y’know.”

Noah grins and snaps his fingers. “Nailed it. Guessed it correctly. I’ve got like this sixth sense about that shit, it’s weird. That’s kinda why I came over here, you know? You look like you need a good dicking. We could have fun this summer, Dumo.”

Brian nearly chokes on his beer, blushing a little as Noah playfully smacks his back as he coughs. “Uh, yeah definitely,” he says. “Look, I um...I don’t like it rough, not like smacking around or any of that? But I don’t mind if you...um. If you hold me down or pull my hair or that stuff. If you want.”

“Cool,” Noah says, like that’s no big deal, and Brian silently exhales. It’s one thing to tell that to a stranger in the Caribbean, another to tell what’s essentially a coworker. Even though that’s only one small piece of what Brian likes, he still wouldn’t want it getting out to the league. And maybe, _maybe_, when he gets more comfortable with Noah, they can introduce more stuff. Slowly.

“Cool,” Brian echoes. Across the room, he’s distracted by the sight of Johnny sitting in Kevin’s lap, resting against his chest. They look like they’re about two seconds away from running out the door for some privacy. They’re both on his team this summer, so Brian sends a prayer to the hockey gods that they’re not gonna be awkward as fuck for two months in the locker room.

“They’re gonna bang,” Noah says, interrupting his thoughts. “So have fun with that on your team. Speaking of banging, you wanna get out of here and I can go eat your ass?”

It’s a close call, but he manages to not look like an idiot and choke on his beer again. Instead, he swallows hard, drains the rest of his beer, and wipes off his mouth with a smile. “Let’s do it,” he says. “We can go back to my place. Hope you like dogs.”

“I love dogs,” Noah says, and they both grin at each other.

Brian has a brief moment, as they’re leaving the bar, where he wonders if he’s doing the right thing. He’s always said he’d prefer to look for a relationship over a hookup at this stage in his life, but...as much as he loves this city, he spends only about three months of the year here. He couldn’t ask a new boyfriend or girlfriend to move to Pittsburgh for him, and long-distance sucks.

So it’s probably better that he doesn’t even look. Not until he gets back to Pittsburgh, at least. If there’s no way to start something _real_ this summer, he might as well not be stuck alone.

“I called an Uber,” Noah tells him with a smile.

“Thanks,” Brian says, then leans forward and gently kisses his jaw. “I have a feeling this is going to be a good summer, you know?”

“Ditto, bud.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's be honest, [there's a reason](https://i.imgur.com/zLt8juT.jpg) I chose Noah Hanifin for this minor part in my fic.


	30. Chapter 30

On Duper’s giant television screen, they’re playing a recap of the Knights-Caps series. The screen is suddenly filled with a jubilant Alex Ovechkin, howling as he lifts the Cup. Kris’ eyes are drawn behind him, to Tom Wilson screaming and hugging his teammates. “Turn it off,” Kris says, grimacing. “I can’t - I can’t. Not yet.”

“You talked to Flower yet?” Pascal asks, switching the channel to baseball.

“Of course.” Kris shrugs. “Not about the Cup loss, not really. The best thing for him is just to ignore it and distract him with other conversation. He’ll work through it in time.”

“Almost reminds me of you. Just a lot less angry. If you don’t talk about it, does it really exist?”

“Hey, it’s a good coping strategy.” Kris sighs at the baseball on the screen. “God, anything but this. What else is on?”

“Well, the summer leagues just started.” Pascal smirks, switching the input in the TV so he can watch an online stream. “I know you always say you’re too good for these leagues, but they’re at least entertaining. I gotta show you Guentzy’s recent goal, it is _sick.”_

Pascal navigates to Da Beauty League’s YouTube channel, the Minnesota summer league where Jake and numerous other guys spend their summers. “It’s not that I’m too _good_ for the leagues,” Kris protests. “I’m always just afraid I’ll break my leg or something. And for what?”

“Or maybe you’re just afraid that some college kid is gonna turn you inside out one day.”

“I’d retire,” Kris says.

“You would not. Oh, here it is.” Pascal finds the goal and plays the highlight reel. Sure enough, Jake scores a nasty snipe, right from between his legs, almost a trick-shot. The announcers go crazy, one of them informing the audience that Jake and the goalie are currently together, and how is _that_ going to play out?

“Wouldn’t want to be Guentzel tonight at home,” the one announcer says. “Might be looking for a new boyfriend soon!”

Pascal laughs, obviously delighted. “Here’s what I don’t understand,” he says. “The NHL is all about entertainment, right? But you can’t officially date anyone else during the season. I mean, fuck that. These summer leagues are like hockey and soap operas together. I know you probably don’t watch them, but it really is fun. Guentzel scoring on his goalie boyfriend, all the drama between a forward and a defensemen dating on opposing teams...why wouldn’t the NHL want to tap into this? Oh, I forgot. The NHL is a _dignified_ league. ‘The sport speaks for itself’.” Duper makes a jerk-off hand motion, rolling his eyes.

“You really want there to be that kind of drama during the season?”

“I want my friends to not have to hide their relationships, Tanger,” Pascal says, going serious. “You know what Sid and Geno go through. Mostly Sid, because Anna is officially with Geno, and he has to pretend like he’s not in love with either of them.”

“I think it’s the drama, too,” Kris teases. “I know you like to pretend like you’re some elder statesman, all respectable and dignified, but you love the drama more than anyone I know.”

“Go fuck yourself, Tanger.”

“Go fuck yourself, Duper.”

They both laugh, and Pascal goes through a few more leagues: the Chicago Pro Hockey League, the Eastside Elite in both Toronto and Detroit, the Foxboro Pro League in Boston - 

“Wait,” Kris says. “Let me see more highlights from that last one.”

“Looks like they just played their first round of games yesterday. We can watch one if you want. I am far too sober right now,” Pascal says. “Need something to watch while I get drunk.”

“Cheers to that,” Kris mutters. “Um, anyone we know in this league?”

Pascal hums, clicking around to the different games. “I think Dumo’s in this league,” he says. “Hold up, let me look at the team rosters. Oh, here we go.”

The YouTube video is titled _Team McDonough vs Keator Club_, and the announcers start right in with a quick showing of warm-ups, listing the players to watch. “On one side of the ice, you have Team McDonough with some lethal forward weapons and a solid defensive base, but weak goaltending,” the announcers squawk. “Keator Club is pretty average defensively, good forwards, but the best goaltending in the league. How is this going to play out?”

“How indeed,” Pascal says. “Look, there’s Dumo, in black.”

The players share the same jerseys and socks, but everything else - gloves, helmets, pants - are a mishmash of team colors. Kris can see the bright yellow Penguins stripe on Brian’s pants as he skates in circles. Center ice is a cluster of players, an entire social section between the teams; the vibe seems a lot more laid back than the NHL, more friendly pick-up than fierce competition. Even Brian eventually gets sucked into the social club, chatting with someone on the other team at center ice. Not a Penguin, based on the red gloves, although Kris can’t make out who it is.

The announcers break down more of the forward matchups, and then there’s a closeup of Brian as they move to the defensive pairs. “Two of the best defensemen on the ice here, Dumoulin and Hanifin,” the announcers say, and that solves the mystery of the red gloves, with Hanifin decked out in his Hurricanes gear. “They’ll be on opposite ends of the ice today.”

Both of them are flushed and laughing, and Brian looks tan and happy. Hanifin leans over center ice and knocks playfully into Brian, who bites his lip and - 

Oh, no.

Kris recognizes that look. Brian is a lot of things, but he isn’t exactly subtle, and Kris can pretty easily pick up on his bedroom eyes. Then again, that could be because Kris has now seen that same gaze turned upon him many times. “Sources say they’ve got a little something going on this summer,” one of the announcers says, confirming Kris’ fears. Fears? No...suspicion, maybe. “Who gets the bragging rights tonight?”

“I give it to Dumoulin,” the other announcer says. “Hanifin’s got more upside, and ultimately I think he’s going to be the better player in the NHL. But he’s still green, and Dumoulin’s a two-time Stanley Cup champion, and I don’t know if they win at least one of those Cups without him. So tonight, I say Dumoulin. Next year or the year after, that’s a different story.”

“Fuck that,” Pascal declares, and Kris startles, having nearly forgotten about him. “Dumo’s way better. But you know what? Good for him. Hanifin’s pretty, I’ll give him that at least. What, what’s that pout for?”

“Sorry?” Kris asks, barely listening. Brian and Noah Hanifin? _Fuck_. He never expected that Brian would go home and be shacked up with a guy in just a few weeks. The fact that it’s Hanifin especially throws a wrench into things; Noah is certainly one of the best looking guys on the ice.

Kris knows he can compete with absolutely anyone. He just never expected that he would have to compete. Furthermore, competing implies that Kris wants to fight for Brian, that he’s worth the battle. Wouldn’t it just be easier to choose someone else? _Anyone_ else?

“Oh my god, don’t look like that,” Pascal says, cutting through his thoughts. “Is this because I called Hanifin pretty? Don’t worry, Kristopher, you’ll always be the prettiest defenseman in the league. I _promise_. I know that’s important to you, princess.”

“It’s not that.”

“Uh huh,” Pascal snorts, but then he pauses, cocks his head. “Actually, I don’t think it is that. So what is it, then? Something’s bothering you.”

“Nothing is - “

“What, are you into Hanifin or something?” That’s a little too close to the truth, and it must echo in his expression, because Pascal draws back, eyes wide. “Seriously? Well, looks like you missed the boat. Don’t fuck with Dumo’s relationships, he’s not the poly type. Although if it’s just sex, maybe - “

“It’s not that, Duper! Fuck.”

“Okay, okay! Jesus.” Pascal holds up his hands in defeat, then takes a long, slow sip of his wine. “God, you’re grumpier than normal.”

“Let’s just watch the game.”

The hockey is, compared to the NHL, objectively terrible. Everyone’s only at about 75% speed, and there’s little to no checking, although still plenty of body contact, especially in front of the net. It’s more entertaining than baseball, at least, and they show plenty of close-ups of Brian and his team’s defensive corps. There’s at least three college kids on the bench next to him, and most of the time Brian can be seen patiently explaining something to the group. They watch him like the rookies watch Sid, deep concentration and special attention. Much like Sid, there is no irritation or annoyance on Brian’s part; if anything, he seems to be enjoying the teaching. “A true leader,” the announcers praise him, and something wraps around Kris’ heart and squeezes.

It’s not enough to have some random person on their knees for him, Kris thinks. He doesn’t want _average_, not some man who begs and then goes back to his job delivering Amazon packages, underpaid and miserable, or some woman who kneels for him at night then puts on a stuffy suit and whiles away boring hours at her accountant job during the day. If a man can tame and dominate an exceptional person, what does that say about the Dom?

And he wants. He wants that leader on the ice, down on his knees in front of him.

Fuck.

Then again, there are plenty of exceptional people in Montreal. Maybe he should stay here instead of going to Boston.

Actually, he definitely _should_ stay here instead of going, but he knows in his heart that won’t happen. “Speaking of Boston, Warrior invited me out to try their new gear line-up,” Kris says casually. “They finally moved it away from Detroit. So I’m thinking about it.”

“Are you sure you’re not into Hanifin? Because you’ve never given a fuck those gear try-outs in your life,” Pascal says, and he does have a point.

“I said I was thinking about it,” Kris defends, even though that’s not exactly the truth - he’s already committed. “I mean, whatever. Boston’s fun.”

“Okay.” Pascal mutes the television, swizzles to face Kris head-on. “Let’s talk. Seriously, what’s in Boston? I won’t make fun of you. Well, I won’t make fun of you too much. You’re allowed to be into Hanifin. A bit younger than I thought you’d go for, but I’m not judging. I knew your party days were gonna end eventually, no shame if it’s right now.”

“I swear, it’s not Hanifin.”

Pascal grunts, but then he sits up straight and his eyes go wide. “Oh my god,” he says, voice hushed. “Wait. It’s not Hanifin...is it Dumo? Kris. Holy shit.”

“I never said it was!”

“You didn’t have to.” Pascal gestures to his face. “You give it all away, wear everything on your sleeve for anyone that knows how to look. Didn’t you learn your lesson about dating teammates? You know...the Sid thing?”

“Me and Sid are fine, Duper. More than fine, actually, because we’re best friends.”

“You are now. And how long did that take? I remember that first year I was on the Pens, and things were still a little chilly between you two. Yeah, it’s great that you both grew up and figured out you’re better as friends than partners, but you think that’s gonna happen again?”

“First off, the fault of that whole thing was not just mine,” Kris says. “Sid had _plenty_ to do with things going south. In fact, he had the most to do with things going south, if you ask me. Second, Dumo is not Sid. And I’m not that same guy I was ten years ago, either. And you know what, this entire conversation is moot. I’m not in love with Dumo. I just - we hooked up earlier this summer - “

Pascal groans, falling backwards on the couch dramatically. “Dumbfucks,” he moans.

“Shut up, we hooked up, it was fine, the sex was great, so maybe I just want a little more of it. That’s it! Warrior invited me to Boston, I accepted, so why not see him again? Hell, maybe I’ll bang Hanifin too. Maybe both of them at the same time. Sounds like a fun plan to me.”

Pascal sits up on his elbows, eyeing Kris skeptically. “You never chase after hookups,” he says. “God, are you really in love? Before you say no: that thing you’re feeling, of not wanting to let him go, wanting more, wanting to spend time with him? I assure you that’s not just great sex. You can get great sex here in Montreal for far less drama.”

Kris shrugs. “It’s a free trip to Boston,” he says, as if that explains everything.

Now Pascal looks serious, and he pulls himself back up to sitting. “Kris,” he says, and yep, it’s his serious tone, the one Kris so rarely hears. “Look. I know I always like to tease you about not knowing what love is. But the truth of the matter is that I think you have a big heart, and you’re very scared of having it broken again.”

“Sorry, when did you get your psych degree? Am I paying for this session?”

“Way back when, early when I joined the Pens, you’d had a hell of a shit year,” he continues, like Kris wasn’t even talking. “Your best friend died in that motorcycle accident, you’d just broken up with Sid, and then we went and lost the Cup. I think you took all that grief and said ‘never again’ and closed it all off. But someday, I figured you’d be ready to love again. I just wish it wasn’t with a teammate, but love doesn’t really let you pick and choose sometimes. I get it.”

There’s still half a glass of wine in Kris’ hand, and he downs it in three swift gulps, shaking his head. “Fuck you, I love,” he says fiercely. “I do love Sid. I love Flower, for some reason I love _you - “_

“That’s different. That’s not the love I’m talking about. And no, you can’t join me and Carole-Lyn as our third, don’t even ask. Listen, before you go to Boston - because I know your dumb ass is going, don’t lie to me about ‘considering’ - I just want you to really think about what you want. Really, _really_ think about it. It’s okay if you love him, but you need to be sure. And if you just want a summer fling - “ Pascal snorts, like the concept is ridiculous. “Tell him that too. Honest and open communication. Because here’s the thing, Dumo’s my friend too. If you hurt him, I won’t be happy.”

“How can I really be sure of anything?” Kris wonders out loud.

“Isn’t that the million dollar question. Do you want to talk about it?”

Perhaps he should, but he doesn’t even know how to articulate his complex feelings. He likes spending time with Brian - but then again, he likes spending time with a lot of people, none of whom he’d consider as a romantic partner. The sex is great - but he’s had better, and never invited that person back again. “No,” he finally says. “I really do believe it’s just a summer fling, but...I’ll think about it. I promise. Okay? What’s that look for?”

“You’re not ready, and you shouldn’t go to Boston,” Pascal sighs. “But you won’t listen to me. You know I’m going to call you every other day, right?”

“I won’t be gone that long. Maybe a week, two tops.”

“Uh huh,” Pascal says, clear disbelief obvious in his tone. “Like I said. I’ll call you every other day.”


	31. Chapter 31

Brian’s phone dings with an incoming text message, and he’s tempted to ignore it and keep sinking into this happy feeling. The post-sex afterglow is still there from earlier, and now he’s laying on the couch with Roo at his feet, his head in Hanny’s lap. Noah is gently scratching his fingernails along Brian’s scalp as they watch Netflix, and it’s all pretty much perfect.

His phone chimes again, insistently, so he sighs and pulls it open. It’s Shears. _Dude,_ the message says. _You and Hanifin????_

_You know it. Jealous?_

_OMG. You’re pulling in Tanger and Hanifin and you still don’t think you can get anyone you want? Fuck off._

“So,” Noah says above him, rubbing his thumb around Brian’s ear. “You and Letang, huh?”

“Hey,” Brian yelps, shielding his phone from Noah.

“Sorry, sorry,” he laughs. “But your phone was like, right in my face! It was impossible not to read.”

Brian sets his phone on the coffee table, cuddling a little closer. “We had a thing,” he says. “Just casual though, and it’s over now. No big deal.”

“I try not to get involved with any teammates. But I’m glad it’s working out for ya. Shit, send Letang my way if it was just casual, huh? He’s crazy hot. Was he good in bed?”

“It was. I mean. Fine,” Brian says, which is an utter and terrible lie, but for some reason the idea of Kris and Noah together sends a hot streak of jealousy down his spine. Which is ridiculous, for many reasons, and not something he wants to get into.

“Yeah, I haven’t had the best luck with French-Canadians, tell you the truth,” Noah admits. “None of them have been particularly generous in bed. Not like you. Dude, I don’t mean to read shit into your texts or anything, but whatever your buddy said about not getting anyone you want - bro, you shouldn’t worry about that. You’re like, a catch.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Totally!” Noah finds that spot on his scalp that drives him crazy, scratches his fingernails over it, and Brian shivers. “Here’s the thing. I don’t know if it’s just me, but every time we fuck, you’re just so into it. Like you’ll die without my dick or something. That’s a big ego boost, y’know?”

Brian snorts. “Yeah, the things I need to live. Food, air, water, and dick.”

“That’s what it feels like,” Noah insists. “So if you do that with other dudes, and with chicks - I dunno, I figure they like to feel wanted, too - seriously, you can get anyone. I mean, part of the reason I broke up with my girlfriend is because towards the end, it felt like she just laid there and let me do all the work and sometimes moaned a little bit while we had sex. It felt bad, man. Felt like I was a bad lover. I’m not…?”

“No, you’re not,” Brian assures him. Hanny isn’t on Kris’ level, but the sex _is_ good, and Brian has even tried a couple new things. Just a few nights ago, they were sitting on Brian’s porch, 23 floors up with a beautiful view of downtown Boston, and Noah eased down his shorts and fingered him right there. His neighbors just a few floors down were outside too, so he had to be quiet as people were _so close_. It was nighttime, so it was dark, but really - anyone could have seen them. It was hotter than Brian would have ever expected, and the sex that followed afterwards was electric. “I’m not exaggerating or anything. The sex is great.”

Noah gives him a toothy grin. “Awesome,” he says. “And hey, I don’t want to intrude or anything, but next time you come to my place, you can spend the night if you want. I know we haven’t really done that. Just if you want, you know? I love morning sex. I am so fucking horny in the morning, like you wouldn’t believe.”

“I _do_ love morning sex,” Brian says. “I can cook you breakfast after.”

“No way? Dude, you are perfect. How good are you at pancakes?”

“Oh, that’s easy,” Brian says, sitting up. “I can make you so many pancakes, Hanny. Hell, spend the night tonight, I’ll make ‘em tomorrow.”

Noah laughs, gently grabbing his chin and pulling Brian in for a kiss. “Not sure which I’m looking forward to more, those pancakes or your sweet ass.”

“Well, luckily you’re gonna get both,” Brian grins, and kisses Noah again.


	32. Chapter 32

Kris spends the next week hooking up with subs in the Montreal scene, hopeful that maybe he’ll find one - just _one_ \- extraordinary person. None of them are truly matches, though. Claire wants to be peed on (which Kris is willing to do, but the act does absolutely nothing for him; she, on the other hand, seems to love it). Paul introduces him to ‘CBT’, cock and ball torture, which Kris promptly safewords out of. Michelle likes pet play, but it’s more than just a nickname of ‘kitten’. She wears a collar and a butt plug with a tail and Kris sort of digs those, especially the collar, but the whole meowing and purring thing is a bit weird.

As a last ditch effort, he browses BDSM clubs in Boston on the plane there, but it turns out that BDSM is quasi-illegal in the state and so there are no official clubs in the city. Just another way in which Canada is far superior, Kris thinks.

The Warrior event is fine, if not a little pointless. Their protective gear is still way over-engineered in Kris’ opinion, and the helmet is fine but ugly as sin (which _is_ a metric for Kris, if he’s being honest). They have a new line of gloves which Kris will probably switch to, but he knew that before he came here. Their sticks are getting better, but not enough to tempt him away from CCM. Still, it feels good to get out on the ice and noodle around. It’s been just long enough since the Pens were beaten in the playoffs that he’s starting to miss it all: the nip of cold air, the satisfaction of putting the puck exactly where you meant to, the beautiful spray of ice during a hard stop. It’s about time to get back in the saddle.

Warrior has split the ice into three sections for different time slots, and so far the guys out on the ice with him have been college prospects, nobody he’s recognized. Just as well; he’s not really in the mood for socializing right now, too busy thinking about tonight. Brian has a game tonight, in this very arena, and Kris still hasn’t reached out to say he’s here in Boston. Kris isn’t sure what _to_ say, if he’s being honest. ‘Hey, just dropped into town, wanna fuck?’ God, that seems desperate.

He still has time to back out, get on a plane, go home - 

“Tanger?”

That’s not Dumo’s voice, but it still sounds awfully familiar. Kris stitches his face into a neutral expression as he turns to see who it is. Noah Hanifin is skating towards him with a big smile, having replaced the gawky college boy who was skating nearby.

Shit.

“Hanny,” he greets, forcing a smile onto his face. He played with Hanifin at the All-Star Game this year, and they got on pretty well. At the time, Kris thought he was a nice kid. Now all he can think is that this _nice kid_ is fucking Brian, and he can feel his hackles rising.

“Didn’t expect to see you here, bud,” Noah says, pulling off his glove for a handshake; Kris does the same, if reluctantly. “Thinking of switching brands? I see you’re rocking the Warrior gloves already.”

“I do like their gloves,” Kris says. “That’s about it, though. But I figured I stop by. I was in town for - ...uh, you know. Anyway, nothing really caught my eye this year. You?”

“Dunno, just got here,” Noah says. “I’m a Bauer guy pretty much head to toe, though. So we’ll see. You gonna be in town for a while?”

“A few days, maybe.”

“Ah.” Noah sidles up a little closer, and another flare of irritation goes up his spine. “I don’t know if you know, but Dumo’s here playing in the local league. Y’know, your d-partner?”

“I know who my d-partner is, Hanny, thank you.” He meant for it to come out gently sarcastic. Instead, he sounds cold and irritated.

Which, he _is._ But still.

Noah doesn’t seem to notice. “Yeah, so we’re having some fun this summer,” he says. “And if you wanted to join us...it could be even more fun. If you have some time on your schedule.”

“Did you talk to Dumo about this?”

For the first time, Noah looks slightly taken aback. “Well, no,” he says. “But I’d be surprised if he wasn’t into it. Man, he’s up for like, _anything_. Real awesome dude.”

Kris digs his fingers so hard into the new Warrior stick they gave him that it stings his fingers. “Maybe you should talk about these things before just assuming,” Kris barks out. “That is like rule one.”

Noah blinks. “Rule one of what?”

“Of - “ Fuck, he’s not going to get into _safe sane consensual_ rules with Noah goddamn Hanifin. “Nevermind. Look, I’ll text Dumo, we let you know.”

“Cool,” Noah says, like Kris didn’t just bite his head off, smiling like he doesn’t have a care in the world. “Later, man.”

Kris is being waved down by a Warrior rep, so he heads to the bench and tries to calm his simmering anger. _Noah Hanifin_ is inviting _him_ to fuck Brian? That’s how it works now? And without Brian’s express consent, what bullshit - 

“How’d everything work for you?” the rep says, full of cheer. “Anything you’d like to try on again? Stay as long as you’d like, but we have some lunch for you afterwards and a few gifts.”

“You think I can get a ticket to the game tonight? The one here?”

“Uh, you mean the FPL game?” The rep looks surprised. “That shouldn’t be a problem. Hell, I bet you could get a roster spot, if you wanted.”

“Just a ticket for now,” Kris says, stomach rumbling. “Actually, lunch first.”


	33. Chapter 33

It’s a blowout win against Team Harlow, and Brian even scores a goal. It’s a little easier to do when you’re ripping slappers at SPHL goalies versus a guy like Lundqvist, Brian knows, but a goal’s a goal and he’ll take it.

He’s been paired with a young college guy from Yale the last few games, Billy, and he is...handsy, is the word Brian would use. “Nice goal bro!” Billy says, practically jumping on his back in the hallway.

“Dude,” Brian laughs, gently shaking him off. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“Sorry.” Billy smiles slyly, sliding his hand from Brian’s back down and smacking him firmly on the rump. “I just think we work pretty good together.”

“For sure,” Brian says, and he can’t help but laugh again. Shit, summer after summer of being kind of lonely and now he seems to have guys coming out of the woodwork. What gives?

Not that he’d ever go for Billy. Way too young. But it’s nice to be hit on, sometimes.

“Hey kid, get your own,” comes the voice behind them, and Brian glances over his shoulder with a grin. Noah’s team has the game right after theirs, and he’s tromping down the hallway towards the ice, along with half his teammates. Immediately the guys set up a teasing round of chirping as they pass, Noah in the middle of the line, being jostled along.

“Hey, we still on for tonight? After your game?” Brian calls out.

“I dunno, you didn’t see my text?”

“What text?”

“I texted you! I saw Kris today.”

Kris? Maybe he meant _Chris_. Some other Chris. Noah passes him, pausing to give him a quick peck before the guy behind him playfully shoves him; the hallway is narrow, and there’s not room for anyone to get around. “I’m going, I’m going,” Noah laughs, heading towards the ice with a wave.

“Wait,” Brian calls. “Kris who?”

“Letang, you dummy. Check your texts,” Noah says before he rounds the bend towards the ice, disappearing.

Sure enough, there’s a text he somehow missed, sent late in the afternoon : _Letang’s in town, saw him at the Warrior event. I kind of proposed a threesome? Lemme know if that’s not cool_

“Oh my god,” Brian mutters. Noah proposed a threesome? Jesus, what a terrible idea - 

Hold on. Is it that terrible of an idea? Brian likes Noah, Brian likes Kris, and Brian has enjoyed fucking both of them. He buries his face in a towel, wiping off the sweat from the game and letting the images play in his head. Being spitroast - god, even the term sounds filthy - has always been somewhere buried deep in his darkest desires. He’s not much into polygamy, not like so many others he knows, but adding an extra for fun on occasion isn’t something he’s opposed to. Not that he’s ever tried that before. It probably shouldn’t be with a _teammate,_ but...

But it’s still an interesting image, until it shifts and suddenly in his mind Noah and Kris are kissing, and that produces a visceral disgust that is sudden and violent. “Ugh,” he groans, loud enough that the guys next to him glance over.

No, he definitely does not want that. The image itself is a pretty picture, but he’s an idiot that still must not quite be over Kris, because the idea of watching Kris with someone else sends his stomach into knots. Even someone like Hanny. _Especially_ someone like Hanny, actually, who has expressed explicit interest in Kris. “Fuck,” he mutters.

“You okay?” Billy asks next to him.

“Don’t mind me, just uh, must have tweaked my wrist or something.”

“Ooh,” Billy winces sympathetically. “Sucks. Hey, if you need help…” He makes a jerk-off motion, giggling.

“Pass,” Brian laughs, waiting til Billy is off in the showers before sighing. What is he gonna do? If he says no, is Hanny going to hook up with Tanger anyway? It’s not like he and Hanny are exclusive, and Brian knows that Noah is interested, and Tanger is _always_ interested in beautiful men. Maybe it would be better if Brian was there.

Ugh.

He’s got some time to think about it anyway, because Hanny has to play his game and get back to Brian’s apartment. Time to have a beer and ponder the situation, at least. He showers quickly, gets dressed, waves off the invitation of a post-game beer, and signs a couple autographs on his way out.

There’s a figure leaning up against his truck as he rounds the corner towards the player’s lot, and he bites back a sigh. Fans aren’t supposed to enter the player’s lot, but security is lax here. It’s a single person, too dark to see the face but tall enough to be an adult, so it’s probably an autograph hound, with a professional stack of photos they can later resell. They’re the worst to deal with. Whatever, he’ll sign one and ask the guy to leave. And maybe give him a talk about touching his truck, because that’s rude.

The figure straightens up as Brian approaches, and he’s tall enough it gives him pause. Is that…? “Dumo,” the person calls out, and his eyes widen. He’d recognize that voice even if Hanny hadn’t given him a heads up.

“Tanger?” A couple more steps and Kris’ features become clearer in the dark. “Man, what are you _doing_ here?”

Kris offers a one-shoulder shrug, supremely casual. “Warrior event,” he says, like that explains everything. “Nice to see you too.”

“Oh come on,” Brian grins, shrugging the hockey bag off his shoulder and giving Kris a quick hug. It’s a very bro-hug, something he’d give on the ice or at the rink, because all they’re supposed to be right now is coworkers; the tryst is over. Still, Kris feels solid and warm and he smells great, a now-familiar cologne, and Brian gets a pang of longing. Stupid, stupid longing.

“I saw your game,” Kris says, leaning back on his truck again.

“Hey hey, watch my baby, I just got her repainted,” Brian says, only half-joking, loading his sticks and bag into the bed of the truck. “And wait, you watched my game? My FPL game? Really?”

“Sure. I mean, I was in town, what better thing to do?” Kris doesn’t move from the truck, just smirking. “Nice goal. But what a shitshow.”

“It’s not the NHL, that’s for sure,” Brian admits. “But it’s a good skate. Keeps me sharp in the summer. Oh, and we always have a fun skate where everyone has to play a different position. Last year they stuck me at wing. You wanna see a _shitshow,_ I haven’t played forward since I was like, nine years old. You’d love it, though. Kris Letang at center? Hell yeah.”

“Fuck center, I’d play wing too. Centers have too much defensive responsibilities.”

“Of course, god knows Kris Letang doesn’t want defensive responsibilities. I should know.” Brian says, falling easily back into the typical teammate banter, and Kris laughs, not even denying it.

“That’s why I have you. To help with all my fuck-ups,” he says.

“Right.” Brian swallows, trying not to think about that turn of phrase: _that’s why I have you_. “Um, so how long you gonna be in town? Like, you want to get dinner or something? Or, I have some wine and a cheese plate back at my place.” He was saving that for Hanny, but Kris doesn’t need to know that.

“Sure, a glass of wine would be nice. Give me your address?”

“I’ll give it to you, but it might be easier just to follow me. I need to beep you into the garage if you’re driving. Where are you parked?” Kris points to a beautiful, pristine white sedan a few rows down, and Brian snorts. “Is that a Maserati? Is that yours?”

“Hell no. You can rent them, you know.”

“You rented a Maserati.”

Kris looks scandalized. “What, you want me to rent some Prius?”

“You are so extra,” Brian mutters fondly. “Here, I just sent you the address, but follow me anyway.”

“Lucky you’re hard to miss in this big-ass ugly truck,” Kris chirps, one parting last shot, before jogging over to his car.

Brian jumps into the cab, and takes a quick moment to breathe as he starts it up. Tanger is coming back to his apartment for some wine. Is this normal teammate shit, or…?

He might be inclined to say ‘normal teammate shit’, but he’s never seen Tanger during the off-season. Still, maybe Kris always attends the Warrior events, he’s just never sought out Brian before. Their relationship _has_ changed, Brian knows, despite both of them promising it wouldn’t; but that’s not necessarily a bad thing. It feels like they’re a little closer now. A little bit more than just ‘friends-at-work’ like it was before, a little less superficial. That can’t be a bad thing, right?

Still, because he’s a dumb pining asshole, he can’t pretend it doesn’t sting a little, having Tanger live and in the flesh in front of him and not being able to do all the shit he wants to. He wants to bury his face in Kris’ neck and smell his cologne and be held; he wants to run his hands through Kris’ hair and kiss him. He wants to kneel and be good and ah, goddamnit it.

“That’s the road to ruin, Dumbo,” he mutters to himself, using the very-creative play on _Dumo_ that he has occasionally been chirped with. “You gotta stop that shit.”

It’s easy to keep the bright Maserati headlights behind him, and Kris detours to the visitor parking while Brian carefully pulls into his spot. Normally he’d drag his gear up, air it out on his balcony, but fuck it, that can wait til later. “No problems following me?” he asks Kris.

“Luckily you’re hard to miss, because that is some of the worst driving I’ve seen. Not from you, from everyone else.”

“Oh yeah, Boston sucks to drive in,” Brian agrees. “They don’t call them Massholes for nothing.”

“And yet, you live here.”

Brian snorts, calling the elevator. “And _you_ live in Montreal which, by the way, I think rivals Boston for being filled with asshole drivers. The only difference is they scream at you in French and not English. Also, weren’t you born in Montreal? Asshole born and bred? I’m from Maine. Just a nice Maine boy living in Boston, is all.”

“I suppose I’ve seen how nice you can be,” Kris says, stepping into the elevator, and Brian’s stuck on his response. Is he referring to...he can’t be, right?

Instead, he lets the conversation lapse into silence, which both men maintain until Brian gets his door unlocked and Kris groans at the giant framed jersey of Tom Brady in the entryway. “Hey man, that’s the GOAT,” Brian says. “It’s Boston. I had to. Go Pats. And here’s Roo!”

Roo dances up to them, looking delighted to see them both, snuffling and snorting, and Brian bends down to kiss her face. “Ah, your fat dog,” Kris says, and Brian shakes his head at her.

“Don’t listen to him. You’re a princess,” he coos, standing back up. “Look at her pretty pink collar. It has flowers on it and everything!”

“She’s just about as well dressed as her owner.” Kris reaches out to yank the Red Sox cap off his head, hanging it on a hook with the rest of his hats. “There. Much better. Now you look at least acceptable. Maybe even good.”

Kris is very close now, and Brian clears his throat, takes a hasty step back and gestures. “Uh, well, let me show you the place. Just a small apartment, Boston is fucking expensive, but the view is killer.” The tour doesn’t take too long - it’s a tiny, two-bedroom apartment - but Brian smiles as he stops in front of the patio door. “Check this out.”

It’s the reason he bought the apartment, the glimmering panorama of the city and water, and Kris takes a step out onto the balcony to look around. It almost hurts his heart, seeing Kris framed by the bright lights of the city he loves. This is a view he certainly never expected. “Not bad,” Kris says, turning to grin at him, and Brian can’t help but smile back.

“You want something to drink? There’s this local wine bar I love, and they have an at-home service where they deliver these boards with wine and pairings like cheese and fruit. Anyway, I just got their latest in.”

“Sure.” Kris steps back inside. “Special occasion?”

“Not really. I don’t need an excuse to drink wine. I was just gonna drink it with Hanny. Um, he said he saw you today.”

“He did.” Kris nods slowly. “And? What else did he say?”

“I guess he proposed a threesome?” Brian laughs, and he can hear the touch of nerves in his voice, busying himself with getting out the wine and food. “He’s, ah, something else sometimes. I didn’t know he was going to do that, for the record. He found out we had a - ” What the hell did they even have? “ - a thing, and I guess it went from there.”

Kris grunts, leaning against the counter and crossing his arms. “So you two are dating?”

“Oh god, no.” Brian watches Kris’ eyebrows lift, and he continues: “Dating isn’t the word I’d use. More like friends with benefits. ‘Summer boyfriends’ is what people call it sometimes. You just have someone you fuck around with and spend time with and then it’s a clean break at the end. No messy feelings or anything like that. Hanny’s a good guy.”

“You sound like me. No messy feelings, eh? That means you two aren’t exclusive?”

Brian shrugs. “That’s exactly what it means. Look, if you want to fuck Hanny - “

“I never said that. Why, you want that threesome?”

Brian uncorks the wine, passing over the card that explains the vintage to Kris, although he doesn’t seem interested in it. “Uh, do you? I mean, I have some complex feelings about it. But I guess I’m not surprised you’d want it.”

“Why’s that?”

Kris is frowning now, but Brian can’t see that he’s saying anything wrong. “You’re into hot guys,” he says. “Hanny, I mean.”

“Hanifin is...whatever. But if you want it - why, what are these complex feelings?”

Brian sighs, pouring them both a glass. Alright, here we go. “A threesome is another thing on my list of ‘kinks-I’m-kinda-interested-in’ but like, it has to be the right situation. Because I picture myself, um, you know, taking both dicks?” He slides the glass over to Kris, and he can tell his face is just as red as the liquid. On some level, it’s still embarrassing to admit it out loud, that he doesn’t want to be the top, the one taking control. He feels safer admitting this to Kris than to anyone else, but it’s still a lot.

Kris leans forward, glass of wine in front of him forgotten. “Like a...what’s it called. Pig roast?”

_“Spit_ roast, oh my god,” Brian says. “But yeah. So it’s kind of in that whole submissive mindset, right? And with you, that’s fine, but the problem is that Hanny doesn’t know about that side of me, and honestly I don’t want him to know. It’s not like I think he’d take it back to his team and tell everyone, I’m not that interesting, but...well, you just never know. I trust you, though. So if I was gonna do a threesome, I’d have to find two people I trust like you.” Fat chance of that, he doesn’t say.

“Right. Let me think about it.” Before Brian can question his response - if they’re just teammates now, what’s there to think about? - Kris steps up into his space, close enough that Brian can smell that cologne again, tips his head up to look Brian in the eye. “I don’t have any third person like that right now. Maybe tonight you would settle for just me?”

“Just you?” Brian feels a little dizzy, and he hasn’t even had any wine yet. “What are you saying? Tonight? You want…?”

“We got cut off in Pittsburgh because of Sid’s stupid salad. But lucky I happened to be here, so why not?” Kris leans up, fits his mouth next to Brian’s ear. “I have big plans for you, chaton.”

“I don’t have anything here,” he murmurs, clutching at the counter. “All my ropes and stuff are in Pittsburgh.”

“We can get creative.” Kris glances down at Roo, who is bumping against their legs, begging for cheese. He shoots a smirk at Brian and bends down, unhooking her collar. “Good girl,” he tells her, standing back up. Brian doesn’t try and fight it as Kris winds that same collar around his neck; he can feel the fake petals from the flower tickling his skin. “Good boy,” Kris says.

“Tanger,” he whispers, licking his lips. He probably looks ridiculous, he knows. He’s wearing a dog’s collar around his neck. A _female_ dog’s collar, all pretty and pink and flowery. But nobody’s ever put a collar on him before, and it sends something straight to his hindbrain that makes him want to drop to his knees right there on the kitchen floor.

“Mmm?” Kris asks. “What did you call me? Of course, you can just take that off, we can drink your wine instead - ”

“Maître,” Brian says louder. “Would - would you like me to get naked? Maître?”

“Yes I would,” Kris says. “We can still have that wine and cheese. I’ll just have to feed it to you, eh?”

Brian swallows. “Oui, Maître,” he says, starting to strip out of his shirt, but Kris stops him. Before he has time to question it, Kris tugs him down in a thorough kiss. It’s everything he thought kissing Kris would be, hot and filthy and demanding, and he wobbles, a wave of arousal washing over him so thick that he’s lightheaded with it. Kris seems to realize it, sets his hands on Brian’s hips to steady him, and another zing of electricity goes up his spine. He doesn’t know what the hell to do with his hands, flailing them in the air for a moment before settling one on Kris’ shoulder, the other lightly against his jaw. His beard tickles Brian’s palm as they kiss, and it’s fucking perfect.

“Please,” he whispers against Kris’ mouth when he pulls away, the only thing he can say. He wants more. He’s pretty sure he could die happily with Kris’ mouth on his.

“I’m going to make you forget all about Hanifin,” Kris promises, kissing him again, and Brian thinks that’s not going to be too difficult at all.


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Here](https://i.imgur.com/GsgLA9L.jpg) is one of Roo's pretty collars for reference!

It’s their first kiss, Kris knows; kissing just didn’t quite seem like a dominant thing to do, and it was easy enough to avoid with Brian on his knees. That’s silly, he realizes now. As he found out in Montreal, there’s not really any right or wrong way to be a Dom, and this certainly feels _right._ Brian melts into him, making a wrecked noise in the back of his throat that makes Kris want to take him apart for real. It’s like Kris has put Brian down into subspace with just one sweet kiss, and that’s a powerful thing.

There’s a nudge against his legs that he ignores, then a second one, then a low _woof_ that’s impossible to ignore. “Your dog,” he mutters as he pulls away, getting his first good look at Brian.

Brian’s red, flush crept high up his cheeks, and he keeps darting his tongue out to wet his lips. The collar with the pink flower looks...well, it’s a little absurd. Kris can see the appeal, but any collar that Brian wears would have to accent that blush he always gets. Something black, maybe. A nice leather one. Kris saw plenty of options in Montreal, and he mentally runs through them now. No spikes or grommets, that wouldn’t look right, but maybe an O-ring on the front.

“I should take her on a walk. Before we, uh.” Brian blinks and shakes his head, like he’s trying to force his brains back up to his skull. “Sorry. It won’t take long.”

“I’ll come with. Nice night out, eh?”

“Oh. Sure,” Brian says, then hesitates, lingering his hands around the collar. “Guess I gotta take this off.”

After another pause, he unsnaps it from his neck, then bends down and puts it back on Roo, who wiggles excitedly. “We can put it back on after,” Kris says. “If you want.”

Brian snorts. “It’s a pink dog’s collar. I mean - “ Brian flicks his eyes to Kris’, then away again. “If you want, then sure.”

“Dumo.” The quiet demand in Kris’ voice snaps Brian’s attention right back to Kris. “Do you want a collar? Tell me. This whole BDSM thing, it’s based off truth, right?”

“No, you’re right,” Brian says. “I mean, you’re totally right. Honesty and trust. You’re better at this shit than I am now. Alright - yeah, I do. I can’t say I ever envisioned it being pink and flowery, but that’s always been a thing for me. Just that symbol of _I own you, you’re mine_. Even if it’s just, y’know, temporary.”

“You never bought one for yourself?”

“Never seemed right. It should be something given.” Brian seems like he wants to say more, but gestures towards the door. “Roo, want a walk? Here, you’ll see. She looks all excited now but two minutes after she pees she’ll be dragging her way back up here. She’s so lazy.”

Kris smirks. “That’s why she’s fat!”

“She’s not - “ Brian chuckles as he bends down to put on her leash. “Okay, she’s definitely a little fat. But look at this face. How can I deny her anything? C’mon, Roo, let’s go.”

They chat idly in the elevator down to the street. Kris is fairly sure Brian is babbling about the Red Sox, but he’s distracted by the leash dangling from Brian’s hand. _That_ could be interesting - if Brian likes collars, what about a leash? Maybe one made out of rope, secured tight to an o-ring at the front of the collar. Being able to direct and control Brian, using the leash to force his cock down Brian’s throat, watch him choke a little as he struggles to take it all - 

“Dude!” That exclamation snaps Kris right out of it; he failed to notice that they’ve arrived in the lobby, and there is one Noah Hanifin standing in front of them, looking thrilled. Kris’ hackles go up immediately.

“Oh shit, Hanny,” Brian says, shaking his head. “Fuck, dude. I’m an asshole.”

“What? Why?”

“I totally forgot you were coming over,” Brian says. “I’m really sorry.”

Noah’s expression falls a little. “Oh. I figured Tanger was here because...y’know?” There’s a security guard in the lobby, so Hanifin at least isn’t stupid enough to loudly proclaim his desires. Instead, he holds up three fingers. _Threesome._

“No,” Kris snaps before he can restrain himself.

Brian looks a little surprised at his tone of voice, turning back to Noah with a placating shrug. “Naw, it’s not that. I owe you big, man.”

Noah gives Kris a weird look, but smiles easily at Brian. “Bro, don’t even worry about it,” he says. “I’m here all summer, and he’s not, right? So like, just holler at me when you’re free again.”

“Thanks, Hanny.”

“Have fun,” Noah tells Brian, then steps up and kisses him. It’s a quick kiss, almost a peck, but all the unflattering thoughts that Kris is thinking about Hanny turns into a miasma of fury at the sight, at the ease and casualness of kissing Brian, in public no less. _You have no right,_ he wants to say; but of course that’s not true. Brian isn’t his.

“I’ll text you,” Brian calls to Noah, and while Kris doesn’t particularly want to think about that, there’s something very satisfying watching Noah’s figure retreating out the door while Kris stays at Brian’s side. As ridiculous as it is, it’s almost as good as a hard-fought win over the Flyers, the thrill of competition, the joy of scoring a timely goal. Victory is sweet. Next to him, Brian shakes his head. “I can’t believe I forgot he was coming over. How long are you in town for, anyway?”

“Haven’t scheduled going back yet.” At Brian’s curious glance, he shrugs. “It’s FlexJet. I have a few things to do, some sponsorship stuff, and my trainer just moved here too. I think maybe about a week.”

“Sucks about your trainer moving away. But figures you’d use FlexJet. I keep hearing about it. Fits you, though.” Brian seems to find this amusing as they step outside. It _is_ a nice night, as Kris proclaimed earlier; the mugginess of the day has gone down, leaving a warm breeze. “I still haven’t used anything like that. Just flying plain old first class commercial.”

“Once you do it, you never go back. No waiting in line with other people, no sitting next to strangers. Your own private jet.” Kris bumps into Brian’s side. “You can afford it, I know what you make.”

Brian pretends to stumble backwards. “What’s the fun of flying a private jet when it’s just you? That sounds boring and lonely to me.”

“We have very different definitions of boring and lonely. Maybe someday, I take you on my jet, then you’ll see.”

“Yeah?” Brian’s mouth curls into a smile. “That would be cool.”

“Of course, I’d expect payment. Not cash, though.” Kris ghosts his fingers over Brian’s ass jokingly, and Brian bursts out laughing.

“So if I’m giving you that tonight, what are you gonna get me in return?”

“I have a few ideas,” Kris says, and suddenly he does. Brian said he didn’t have any supplies here in Boston, but that can change quickly. If Kris is thinking about staying for a week, it needs to be a damn fun week and that necessitates a well-stocked bedroom.

And a collar, Kris thinks. Definitely a collar.

The streets are almost deserted at this time of night, although Kris can hear people far above them, chatting on their balconies, enjoying the weather. “So, Hanifin,” he says, walking alongside Brian and Roo, a slow trod. “When we talked earlier, he said...he told me you were ‘up for anything’. He’s sharing all your secrets, you know.” Part of him wants to see Brian angry at Noah for his words; the other part of him is desperate to know what that means. Up for _anything?_ Was there something Brian did with Noah that he didn’t do with Kris? Something that he enjoyed?

Brian looks startled while Roo finds a good spot and circles. “I mean - huh. He said that?”

“He did.”

“I guess when you’re vanilla, the blandest stuff looks exciting.” Brian shrugs. “We didn’t do anything really crazy. Well…” He glances around, making sure they’re alone. “He fingered me on my balcony. The neighbors were outside too, like four floors down. I could kind of hear them. There’s no way they could have seen us, but it was kind of hot, just being outside like that. Never _ever_ thought I’d say that, public sex has never been my kink. But you learn something new every day, huh?”

For the moment, Kris can ignore the _Noah_ part of the story, think instead only about Brian, fist in his mouth to try and keep from making noises, eyes rolled up in the back of his head. Hell, public sex has never been Kris’ kink, but it’s a damn pretty picture. “Guess you do,” he says.

“Alright, she’s done,” Brian declares, and sure enough Roo is straining back towards the front doors. “She’s not all about this ‘exercise’ thing. Good thing for tonight, right?”

“Good thing.” Kris isn’t sure what he’d do if Brian had a dog that demanded a long walk. He’s itching to get back upstairs and wipe any thoughts of Noah Hanifin out of both their minds. “My safe word is Boston, by the way,” he says, because it’s probably important that Brian knows that.

Brian’s jaw swings open for a second before he recovers and closes it. “You have a safeword,” he says. “And it’s _Boston.”_

“Why not? This place sucks. I assure you I will not be giving any dirty talk about your city while we’re together.”

“Hey, fuck off,” Brian says, teasingly. “I’m just...I mean, Doms should have a safeword, probably. Just surprised that you - I guess you’ve done some research?”

“You could say that,” Kris says.

“I - “ Brian hesitates, takes a deep breath. “When you had me look at your phone, back in Pittsburgh. I saw you had some messages from FetLife. Have you - I mean. With anyone else? No, shit, that’s not my fucking place to ask, just ignore me.”

“You can,” Kris says, although it’s probably going to make this whole situation a lot more complex. He’s still not sure whether he’s interested in BDSM or just Brian, and he’s not sure yet how to untangle the two to figure it out. “And I have. With others. It was fine. Good, I mean. But I can see now why you struggle to find someone. Trust is a hard thing. I couldn’t imagine, if I were a sub...it’s hard enough for me.”

“It’s just different when you trust someone, fully and completely,” Brian says softly, and maybe that’s what Kris has been missing through this whole process and trying to find a sub. Trust. A connection outside of what they do in the bedroom.

Shit, Kris thinks. He’s going _soft._

It gives him some hope, though, that this can be replicated outside of Brian. _Didn’t you learn your lesson about dating teammates?_ Duper’s words come back to him. Maybe, for once in his fucking life, he should listen to that little angel on his shoulder. If he wants someone, there are thousands of people out there more suitable.

For now though, he’s here, and he’s going to make it good. “Well, you can trust me,” Kris says. “Always. Even if this tryst isn’t a forever thing, the trust is.”

“I do trust you, Tanger.” Brian smiles over at him, warm and open. Kris almost wishes he wouldn’t; he’s built up a layer of ice around his heart, out of necessity as well as choice, and every time Brian smiles like that he can feel a little bit of it melting, drip by drip.

Once they’re back in Brian’s apartment, Kris waits for him to unleash Roo before bending down and taking off her collar like before. Brian’s already got his head tilted up, waiting for it. “I can’t believe I’m only doing this now,” Kris says, fastening it around Brian’s neck. “Of course all sweet kittens need collars. How else would people know they’re not just some strays? How would people know they’re owned, otherwise?”

Brian’s throat bobs up and down underneath the collar. “Maître,” he says, helplessly. “I’m no stray.”

“No.” Kris sets a hand on Brian’s chest, tilts his head up for a soft kiss. Brian opens his mouth eagerly, letting Kris explore to his own desire. “No stray. _Mine,”_ he says, and he can feel the hitch in Brian’s breath beneath his palm. “Show me your bedroom, chaton. Wait - first, grab scissors. Then bedroom.”

“Scissors are in the kitchen. But I don’t have rope,” Brian says, making a quick detour to dig through a small drawer and place a pair in Kris’ palm. They’re not safety scissors, so Kris is going to have to be careful if he needs to use them, but they’re better than nothing. Behind Brian, Kris can see their abandoned wine and cheese tray, but nothing feels more urgent right now than getting Brian naked and underneath him. If they waste food, so be it.

“I know. Lead the way, chaton.”

His bedroom isn’t anything fancy, but it’s neat and the bed is made. There’s a walk-in closet that’s propped partly open, and Kris immediately zeroes in on it, throwing it open. He finds what he’s looking for almost immediately: a small tie rack. “These are hideous,” he proclaims.

“What are you looking at? My ties? _...oh,”_ Brian says, nodding. “Uh, yeah, most of my good ties are back in Pittsburgh. Don’t have much reason to get dressed up very often here in Boston.”

“We can put them to use, then.” Kris picks out the softest of them, definitely the best of the bunch, but if this all goes well it won’t be destroyed. “I think you are far too clothed, chaton.”

“Oh, right,” Brian says, hands flying up to his shirt. He’s wearing a polo and nice khakis, both of them just ill-fitting enough that Kris knows they’re off the rack.

Imagine if Kris took him shopping. Dressed him up the way Kris knows he could, tailored clothes to flatter his long frame - 

He stops himself there. That’s a bit too far, he knows, not something that any casual hookup would have the right to do, so he stays silent while Brian fumbles his way out of the polo. “Oh, come on, make it sexy. Give me a show, chaton.”

Brian snorts, hands stilling on the fly of his khakis. “Like, give you a strip tease? I - Maître, there’s a lot I will happily do for you. But you don’t want to see _that._ It would be like, the opposite of erotic.”

“I still remember you failed my little challenge. You remember, you came when I specifically told you not to? So you still owe me, and maybe that’s what I’ll ask for. Would you safeword out?”

“No,” Brian says. “But trust me, neither of us would be into it.”

“I decide that,” Kris says, but he sits back, flicks his hand in Brian’s direction to allow him to take his clothes off normally. Shorts, sandals, and boxers off, Brian is naked; his hands crawl up to his neck to touch the collar, almost absentmindedly, before yanking his hands away with a shy smile. “We should put that collar to good use, no? Go get Roo’s leash.”

“Oh,” Brian says, like he’s surprised by the request, but he recovers and nods. “Oui, Maître,” he says, disappearing only to return with the leash - also pink, with little sparkly gems instead of flowers - presenting it to Kris.

“Is everything you have for that dog pink?”

“She’s a princess.”

“I guess right now you’re a princess too,” Kris says, and he looks up to see Brian blushing, harder than normal. He’s not sure if that’s a good or a bad thing; perhaps something to explore later. “On your knees, chaton.”

Brian dutifully sinks to his knees, and Kris finds the little o-ring to snap the leash onto the collar. He gives it an experimental tug. The collar is a bit loose, but if Kris pulls the leash towards him, it puts pressure on the back of Brian’s neck and not on his windpipe. He should be able to yank as hard as he wants in this direction. “Now your hands.”

Tying the necktie around Brian’s wrists is trickier than Kris thought. It’s all different sizes - one end fat, the other end thin - which complicates things enough, but the silky material isn’t helping, either. Brian stays still through it all, quietly patient until Kris is satisfied with his work. “How does that feel?” he asks.

Brian tests the tie, rolling his wrists. “Fine. Great,” he says. “I mean. It’s not as comfortable as my rope, but just being down here on my knees for you, in your bonds. _That’s_ the great part.” When Brian looks up, Kris can see the nerves in his expression, like he’s afraid he’s stepped too far with that proclamation.

“Good boy,” Kris tells him, bending down for a kiss, which Brian returns eagerly. When they part, his nervousness is gone, replaced by - 

Kris doesn’t even know how to describe it. Brian looks at him like he’s God, or maybe - if Kris were the Devil himself, Brian would deconvert right here and now. _This_ is the high that he was chasing through his exploration of different subs in those clubs, the sweetest drug he can’t get enough of. In Montreal, he got a few tastes, a small buzz to keep him going, but here in a small little apartment in Boston it’s like he’s a hair’s breadth away from overdosing on it, it feels so strong. He is a Dom, and before him is a sub, _his_ sub, the sweetest one in the world, the man that everyone sees as a strong alpha athlete but then comes home and puts on a pink collar and kneels between Kris’ legs.

“I missed you,” Kris says, unable to stop the truth from spilling out of his mouth. “I missed - “ _Everything. Your dumb jokes and your obsession with wine and your sweet nature and the way you fall asleep on me -_ “your mouth,” he finishes, able to salvage it without exposing too much.

“You can have my mouth, Maître,” Brian says. “Anything you want.”

“Are you eager for it?” he asks, tugging on the leash. Brian shuffles forward on his knees, bound hands going up to the fly on Kris’ shorts, plucking at the button, answering that question nonverbally. “Do you think I can control you with just this leash? Just a nice slow blowjob until I tug on it, and then you go faster. What do you think?”

“I’ll try, Maître,” Brian says, unzipping Kris’ shorts. He has a tough time navigating Kris’ cock out of his briefs, but Kris makes no move to help or shift his hips up, enjoying the furrowed brow and intent concentration as Brian struggles. Finally, it’s out; Kris has been hard as hell since Brian’s been down on his knees, and he bites back a groan at being so close to what he wants.

He can wait, though. Like one of Brian’s much-loved wines, he wants to start slow, to savor it, _appreciate_ it, before he starts tugging on that leash and demanding that Brian choke himself down on his cock.

Brian looks like he’s been eagerly anticipating this as well, leaning forward and gently lapping at the head, around the foreskin, before taking Kris into his mouth. “Suck it,” Kris murmurs, an unneeded command because Brian’s already doing just that, but it feels right to say it out loud, to demand it, to make his wishes known. “Good boy, chaton.”

Kris is drawn to the bright pink of the collar against Brian’s skin, and he sets his hand there, drawing his thumb down and around the collar, slipping underneath. “You deserve a real one,” he says quietly, and Brian moans. The collar flexes and shifts with every movement Kris makes with the hand holding the leash, so he tugs, partly to watch the collar dig a little into his flesh, and partly to see if Brian will obey what he asked earlier.

To his gratification, there’s little hesitation before Brian opens wider, takes more of him in, a faster pace. As much as he badly wants to, Kris doesn’t yank his hair or shove his head down, knowing his wrists are tied and he needs an out if he’s truly choking. But god, it is tempting. “You always give me such a hard choice,” Kris says. “Do I finish in your sweet mouth? Or fuck you? I suppose that depends on how safe you’ve been with - “ No, Kris isn’t going to put _Noah Hanifin_ in his mouth, not right now. “I’ve used protection since we were together. Have you? Can I come inside you?”

Brian pulls off with a wet, obscene noise, and he’s got a weird look on his face. “Um - Gary?” Kris stares at him blankly, uncomprehendingly, and Brian holds up his wrists. “Gary Bettman - uh, my wrists hurt - “

“Tabarnak,” Kris curses, mostly at himself for not immediately recognizing Brian’s safeword. He springs out of the chair, trying not to knock Brian over, making a grab for the scissors. Brian is still holding up his wrists, so Kris carefully gets one edge of the scissors underneath the fabric and starts cutting.

They’re shitty scissors, so it takes longer than Kris would have liked, but soon enough the tie flutters to the ground, ruined, and Brian is free. His wrists are red. “What happened?” he asks.

“I dunno,” Brian says, rubbing at the red spots. “It was a little uncomfortable so I twisted my wrists and suddenly it got _super_ tight and painful.”

“Let me see.” Brian sets his hands in Kris’ palm for inspection; no blood, not even any torn skin, just a bit of irritation. He safeworded at the right time. “It looks fine, but if anything starts going numb, you say so right away. Let me get us a drink. Gatorade or water or something.”

“Gatorades are in the fridge,” Brian says, sitting back on his haunches with a sigh. Kris grabs two of them, and when he returns, Brian is on his bed, still naked with the collar and leash, but reading his phone. “Apparently you’re not supposed to use neckties cause they can do just what happened, twist the wrong way and get crazy tight. We’re fucking this all up, huh?”

“I’m fucking this all up,” Kris says, climbing on the bed and kissing Brian’s temple. “My fault. I need to make it up to you.”

“Naw, you don’t have to - “

“A new tie, at least. A better one. And maybe dinner, to say sorry?” Kris reaches up to unsnap the collar, but Brian lifts his hand to cover the buckle.

“Please - “ Brian bites his lip. “Um, we can leave it on for maybe a little while. Unhook the leash, but the collar...I...just a little while longer.”

“Of course.” Kris adjusts his hand to the leash, unhooking that and setting it aside, then leans in and kisses the little divot right under where the collar sits just below Brian’s Adam’s apple. “It looks good on you.”

“Thanks,” Brian says, barely more audible than a breath, Adam’s apple bobbing as he does so. Kris tilts his head up, captures Brian’s mouth, and they kiss like that, long and slow. The gentle meandering of the kiss turns needy after a few minutes; his dick is quite insistent that Kris remembers that he didn’t get off yet.

Brian’s squirming like he’s being reminded of the same thing, so Kris pulls back and smiles at him. “Maybe - we can’t do ties, but we don’t need them, do we? You’re so sweet I bet you’ll submit just on my word. I still want to fuck you.”

“Yes, yes, oui,” Brian says. “I’ve, uh. I’ve used protection, with - I mean, before, so you can - if you want, you can come inside me. I’d like that, yeah.”

“Oh, I don’t forget you’re a secret little come whore,” Kris says, kissing him quick, and Brian actually giggles at that, like he’s scandalized, like it’s not the truth. “Get your lube, chaton.”

“One sec,” Brian says, levering himself off the bed and disappearing into the on-suite bathroom. The ruined necktie and scissors are still laying discarded on the floor, so Kris picks them up. With the way this night is going, if he leaves them there, one of them is going to cut their foot on the damn scissors.

There’s a garbage can in the corner, and Kris is just about to drop the tie in when he spots a pair of ripped athletic shorts sitting in the trash. _Divine inspiration_ \- Kris has always thought that was a crock of shit, but maybe there’s some truth in it, because he knows exactly what they’re going to do now. “What are you looking at?” Brian asks, curious and a little guarded as he returns.

“Ripped your pants, eh? Right in the back?” Kris pulls the shorts out of the trash, holds them up. The hole is right on the ass.

Brian’s suspicious look does not relax at all. “They’re an old pair,” he says slowly. “Why?”

“Put them on.”

“I’m sorry?”

Kris tosses them over, and Brian drops the bottle of lube in favor of catching the shorts. “Put them on,” Kris says again. “And maybe a shirt. But no underwear. It’s a nice night out, right? Perfect for sitting on your balcony?”

Brian’s eyes go wide in sudden understanding. “Oh,” he says, reaching down to retrieve the lube and getting himself into the shorts. “Uh, yeah. Real nice night to be totally clothed on the balcony.”

“Maybe you can sit on my lap,” Kris says, and grins.


	35. Chapter 35

Brian shoves the lube in his pocket, and follows Kris out to his balcony, both of them speaking in hushed voices like someone’s going to overhear their plan and grinning at their mutual secret. They keep Roo shut inside - she lets out a sad _woof,_ but Brian knows she’ll forget about them momentarily and take over the empty couch - and Kris settles down on the big loveseat, shoving back the end table. “Have a seat,” he says, patting his lap.

“Are you sure?” Brian’s got four inches on Kris easily, although they’re the same weight.

“Am I ever not sure?” Kris cocks an eyebrow which can be seen even in the dark. “Chaton?” he asks, keeping his voice lower for that question.

“Ah, okay, oui,” Brian says; it’s a reminder that they’re still technically scening, and gently perches on the edge of Kris’ lap.

He’s yanked backwards suddenly, falling back against Kris’ chest, kept firmly there with a hand around his waist. The metal tag on the collar, with Roo’s name and his own number, is cold against his neck. “What, you think you’re too big?” Kris growls softly in his ear. “No, no. I tell you before, you’re my sweet kitten. I can hold my kitten on my lap.”

“Biggest kitten in the world, right?” Brian mumbles, a little self-deprecating joke because he _is_ big and heavy, and he knows it. He doesn’t want Kris to feel bad if they need to reposition.

“Not too big for me,” Kris says, tugging at the collar with his teeth. “Just the right size.”

“Maître,” he says, barely louder than an exhale, and finally allows himself to relax, to stop trying to keep his weight shifted off Kris. Kris doesn’t even make a noise, no pained grunts or wheezes as Brian settles his weight fully on top, and for the first time since he can remember he feels…

Well. He feels kind of _small._ Taken-care of, certainly.

It’s nice.

He tries not to shiver as Kris slowly drags his hand down his side, along his ribcage and hip, slipping into the pocket of the shorts to grab the lube. “You’re going to need to help me,” he says. “Take this, pour some on my fingers.”

“Oui, Maître,” he says, obediently taking the tube and smearing a healthy amount on Kris’ fingers. Kris spreads his own legs, which spreads Brian’s in turn, and suddenly that same hand is at the ripped opening of his shorts, pressing against his hole without warning. It’s a shock: the cold of the lube, the utter illicitness of the act, and as if on cue one of his neighbors laughs loudly, a reminder that others are out here. It startles a moan out of him.

“No, no,” Kris whispers, gently nipping at his earlobe. “You need to be a good, quiet boy for me. Don’t you hear the people? They can hear you too. You want them to know I have my fingers inside you?” As if on cue, Kris sinks one finger in, just to the first knuckle, the others circling his rim. “You want them to know you’re such a comewhore that you’ll let me fuck you anywhere? Me, I’m leaving soon, but _you_…you have to live here. With them knowing.”

“No, I’ll be quiet,” Brian says softly, successfully biting back the next noise when Kris crooks his finger. “They won’t know.”

Kris withdraws his hand for just a moment, holds it out for more lube and then the fingers return, two of them dragging along the rim before wiggling inside. It hasn’t ceased being a surprise; he’s in public, and he’s fully clothed, and yet there are fingers inside him. Just like with Noah, the naughtiness of the whole thing sends a smoldering pit in his gut that he never would have expected. And Noah only fingered him. What happens when Kris _fucks_ him?

The thought draws another short groan out of him, and he immediately claps his hand to his mouth to stop the noise. Behind him, Kris tsks. “Maybe that’s what you want,” he purrs in Brian’s ear. “You want your neighbors to know how easy you are. Maybe you want them to fuck you, too.”

“No,” Brian says, turning his face into Kris’ neck, breathing hard. “No, I’m only yours.”

Kris’ fingers pause, and Brian holds his breath: did he overstep on that? It was only supposed to be part of the scene, regardless of his true feelings - but then he feels more than hears Kris’ chuckle. “Are you?” he asks. “I like that.”

“Yes, yes,” Brian whispers against his neck. He smells amazing, some sort of cologne that Brian doesn’t remember him wearing at home. When he lifts his head, he can also smell some lingering cigarette smoke, yet another reminder that only a few balconies away, people are enjoying themselves, oblivious to how _Brian_ is enjoying himself.

“More lube, chaton,” Kris demands, withdrawing and holding out his hand again. “I can tell you want it. Don’t want to keep you waiting.”

Brian assents, then sets the lube aside to adjust himself in the loose shorts, his cock straining against the front, making an obscene bulge. Even massaging himself through the fabric feels good; he’s not usually allowed to touch himself, _can’t_ usually touch himself with being tied up, but Kris doesn’t seem to mind tonight. He gets wrapped up in it, the summer breeze on his face, Kris a steady presence behind him, fingers gently rubbing against his prostate, stroking himself through his shorts, it all feels so good that he nearly forgets where he is until a loud voice calls, “Wow!”

It nearly startles him off Kris lap, who has to hold him tight and steady, finger stilled inside him. “It’s such a nice night,” the voice continues, and someone loudly agrees. Through his hammering heart Brian figures out what’s happening. Besides his neighbors a few floors down, with their faint cigarette smoke and mumbled voices, his neighbor _right above them_ is now out on the balcony, along with a second person, chatting away, oblivious as to what’s happening under their feet.

Realistically, Brian knows they won’t be seen. Their neighbors would have to hang over their balcony and even then…

But they sound like they’re right in Brian’s ear. They sound so _close._

“Now you really need to be quiet,” Kris whispers, and he sounds far more amused than he should. “Or they’ll know. Shh, shh…” One more stroke to Brian’s prostate and he withdraws his fingers slowly, so slowly. But Brian stays quiet, only a breathy exhale at the movement.

Kris wipes his slick fingers on the shorts, and Brian can hear the sound of a belt being undone, a zipper being unzipped, before gently nudging Brian to lift up a little. “Shh,” he says again, and Brian holds his breath at Kris’ cock, freed from its confines and pressing against his entrance.

It’s not that he’s ever been disappointed with Noah, but Kris is _thick,_ and maybe it’s the quick prep or the position but as Kris pulls him down on his cock, he feels filled-up like he hasn’t since they were together in Pittsburgh. Kris grinds his hips up slow so there’s no sound, and when he speaks next even he sounds a little jittery. “Fuck,” he whispers. “Just want to bend you over the railing and take you. Let everyone see.”

“No, no,” Brian whispers, flushing with embarrassment at the thought: the neighbors falling quiet in shock while Kris fucks him, his cries and the telltale sign of slapping flesh filling the night. They’d peer over the railing, see him kitted out in a pink bedazzled collar, debauched and loving it.

_God._

“Don’t worry, I don’t want to share with them,” Kris says, his hands sneaking under Brian’s shirt, crawling up his chest. “Your noises are only for me.”

Brian can tell where Kris is heading, shoving the meat of his palm into his mouth in anticipation. Just in time, too; he grinds deep, right against Brian’s prostate, at the same time he gently, _gently_ twists his fingers around Brian’s right nipple, and then does the same to the left. Brian barely manages to muffle his whine against his hand.

Kris nips at his earlobe. “Move for me, chaton,” he whispers. “Nice and slow.”

He’s tall enough that his legs still reach the floor, making it easy to lift up just a few inches and sink back down. Brian does it again, and then the third time Kris shifts his hips upwards on the downstroke, and a small whine escapes. “Oh - “ Brian says, stilling on Kris’ lap; but the voices above them, talking about their plans for the weekend, don’t stop.

Suddenly there’s a firm hand over his mouth, dragging his head back. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Kris, shaking his head, looking disappointed. “You’re usually so good,” he whispers. “Have you missed me that much you can’t help it?”

The hand across his mouth doesn’t move, doesn’t allow him to talk, so he nods, maintaining eye contact with Kris, who grins. “I know,” he whispers, as smug as a whisper can be. “Guess I have to keep my hand here, eh?”

Brian’s breath comes hot against Kris’ hand as Kris presses his hips up again. He suddenly feels very helpless; he’s off-balance with the way Kris is holding him, propped up against Kris’ chest, held securely. “Let go,” Kris whispers against his ear, so he stops fighting, stops trying to keep his balance, falling fully back against Kris, tilting his head back to rest on Kris’ shoulder. The hand never moves from his mouth. “Good boy,” Kris says, and thrusts up again, that same filthy slow grind against his prostate. The whimper that escapes him is quiet, but it sounds loud against Kris’ palm.

Kris keeps that slow pace, and Brian startles as Kris’ free hand slips inside the loose shorts to thumb at the tip of his cock. “When’s the last time you came in your pants?” Kris asks, the voices above them laughing loudly at something.

Of course, Brian can’t answer; he’s still being gagged by Kris’ hand, which shows no sign of being removed. “Mmm,” he grunts against Kris’ palm. Once is the answer. He was 14, and there was no school, no hockey, so he’d slept in till noon. He remembers that he had a sex dream, and when he woke up, everything was cold and sticky. It was gross at the time, not something he’s ever told anyone.

But here and now, almost fifteen years later, coming in his pants doesn’t seem like it’s going to be that bad. If that’s what it’s going to take to get off, he _wants_ it. “Mmm,” he whines again, softly, hoping Kris will understand.

Kris teases the tip for another long moment with a gentle touch. “So wet,” he says quietly, collecting the precome before sliding his hand down to stroke the rest of the shaft. It’s a lot of sensation, so much - Kris working his dick, the cock in his ass slowly grinding against his prostate. Kris himself, solid behind him, gagging Brian with a hand, holding him firm like he’s small, as if he’s not a 6’4 professional athlete. The voices from above and below, oblivious to what they’re doing. His city in front of him, beautiful in the summer lights, the warm fresh air.

The _collar_, a constant reminder around his neck.

Tears prick at the corner of his eyes. It is so much, almost too much, but more than that he missed this feeling, of putting trust in someone else, of giving all control over to another and knowing that even in riskier situations like this public sex, that Kris will make sure they stay hidden and safe. “Please,” he says against Kris’ palm, and though it comes out garbled and barely-audible, he thinks Kris understands, speeds up his strokes. His toes curl against the concrete of the balcony floor as he shivers, makes a soft noise - he’s close.

“Do it,” Kris whispers, sucking gently at the hinge of his jaw. “Come on, chaton. Right in your shorts. So desperate for me.”

Somehow, he manages to stay silent as he comes, arching up and shuddering, almost twisting off Kris’ lap. His face is hot from the gasped breaths that are caught by Kris’ palm, and there’s a new twist in his stomach, the embarrassment of coming in his pants, of being so turned on that he could. He doesn’t hate that feeling, he decides. Not as much as he thought he would.

When Kris speaks next, his voice is just above a whisper, like he’s fighting hard not to be loud. “Stand up. We’re going inside.”

“Okay,” Brian says, licking his dry lips, and walks gingerly through the doorway back to the apartment, trying to avoid the sensation of the mess in his pants.

As soon as the door closes, Kris grabs him by the back of his shirt, fists a firm grip and practically drags him over to the couch. “My turn,” he growls, bending Brian over the couch and yanking down the ruined shorts to puddle at his ankles. Brian doesn’t resist, spreading his legs as best he can, the fabric of the couch soft against his cheek as he submits.

He gets only a second’s notice, a quick blunt pressure at his hole before Kris slams in, quick and hard and dirty, and the contrast between the slow grind on the patio and the pace here in the apartment makes him yelp into the couch cushion. Kris stills for a split second, perhaps to listen to whether Brian will safeword, but then sets a brutal pace, like he’s the desperate one, like he can’t wait for another second. The whole time, he’s still got his grip fisted in Brian’s t-shirt, keeping him forcibly bent over as he takes him roughly. Brian can’t be quiet anymore, and all the noises he swallowed on the patio start tumbling out, the tags on the collar jingling back and forth with each thrust. “Please,” he wails, at least muffled a little by the couch cushions. “Please, god, Maître, fuck me _please.”_

The noises that Kris’ thrusts make are obscene and loud, and Brian spares a thought that if his upstairs neighbors didn’t hear them on the patio, there’s probably no mystery as to what they’re doing right now. “Tell me you want it,” Kris demands, breathing hard behind him.

“I want it - “

“Tell me!” Kris snarls.

“Please - please breed my ass,” Brian moans, burying his face into the couch cushions. The dirty talk, the come-stained shorts puddled at his ankles, it sends a bolt of humiliation and arousal through him. “Please - oh, fuck - come inside me. I’m your whore. I need you. Maître, please.”

Kris seems to have no compunctions about being loud, and the neighbors almost definitely hear him when he comes with the noise he makes. Brian can’t bring himself to care, shivering through the overstimulation as Kris fucks through his orgasm, coming deep inside him. _Claimed. Owned._ Noah’s great, but - shit, he missed this.

There’s a weird huffing noise by his ear, and Brian lifts his head to discover himself face-to-face with Roo, who immediately starts licking his cheek. “No,” he giggles, and behind him Kris starts laughing as well when he catches sight of what’s happening. “Roo, baby, come _on._ Not now!”

“Of all the things she could lick right now, that’s probably your best one.”

“Gross,” Brian moans, trying to twist his face away to no avail - Roo is on a mission now to lick every inch of his face. “Roo!”

“I should keep you here like this,” Kris says, gently rubbing a hand over his hip, but sighs and takes a step back, slipping out. “Alright, you’re free.”

Brian grins back at Kris, stepping out of his ruined shorts while Kris wiggles back into his. “You want a kiss?”

“With dog slobber all over you?”

“Come on, give me a kiss,” Brian says, pushing off from the couch and taking a threatening step towards Kris, waggling his eyebrows. Kris backpedals, putting the dining room table between him and Brian, and it quickly turns into a game of chase, both of them laughing as they run circles around the table. Well, now his downstairs neighbors hate him, too, but it’s worth it - Brian ends up leaning against the table, flushed and panting and chuckling, never having managed to catch Kris. Across the table, Kris is doing the same, grinning and catching his breath.

“Wash your face,” he says. “Then I’ll give you aftercare.”

Brian doesn’t feel like he needs aftercare, not quite like he normally does - even though he submitted tonight, he didn’t get the same drunk feeling as he does when he’s tied up, and Roo ruined everything else. But aftercare means cuddles, so… “You got it,” he says, stripping off his shirt and heading towards the closest bathroom. He washes his face, wipes the lube off his ass and thighs, and pauses at his neck, fingering the collar.

He should take it off. The scene is over. It looks ridiculous, but he’s not going to lie to himself and say he isn’t a little disappointed. With a sigh, he unsnaps it, bends to fasten it around Roo’s neck at his feet. When he heads back out to the dining room, Kris is nowhere to be seen. “Uh, Tanger?” he calls.

“In here,” comes the voice from his bedroom, so he heads that way. Kris is sprawled on his bed, browsing through the Boston sports book that was on Brian’s bedside table. He’s shirtless and down to his briefs, hair sticking up everywhere from their activities. “No accounting for taste,” he says, putting aside the book with a smile.

“Hey,” he says, walking over slowly. He wants to capture the view: Kris, in his bed. It’ll probably never happen again, right?

Kris holds his arms out. “Want under the covers?”

“Not yet,” Brian says, sliding into Kris’ embrace, resting his head on Kris’ shoulder. “God, you’re like a furnace.”

“So you’re saying I’m hot.”

Brian laughs, shaking his head. “You know you’re hot, Tanger.”

“I’ll still take a compliment.” Kris pulls his chin up, leans down to kiss him, gentle and slow, running his tongue along Brian’s lower lip. He exhales hard in Kris’ mouth, making a small pleased noise; he’s not sure what’s changed between now and Pittsburgh. They never kissed in Pittsburgh. He doesn’t want to ask though, because if he asks, maybe Kris will stop, and Brian never wants this to stop.

“Kris,” he murmurs as the kiss ends, a small plaintive plea for - for what, more? Even Brian isn’t sure. Kris’ eyebrows go up as if he’s waiting for the question, and Brian clears his throat, thinking fast. “Um, so I’m sure you have a hotel room. But like, if you didn’t wanna drive. You can stay here. If you want.”

Kris’ mouth curls into a small smile. “Are you a breakfast guy?” he asks, reaching out to run his thumb along Brian’s lower lip, the same spot his tongue was just a moment earlier. “You seem like a breakfast guy.”

“Oh, I’m the tits at breakfast,” Brian says, and the immediate confusion on Kris’ face at the slang makes him snort in laughter. “I mean, I’m really really good at breakfast. As in cooking breakfast. I could blow you, too? If you’re a morning blowjob kinda guy?”

“I’m an anytime blowjob kinda guy,” Kris says dryly. “Twist my arm. Okay, you convince me.”

“Okay,” Brian says, settling down a little closer. “Sounds like a plan.”

Usually, he feels a little self-conscious about snuggling with someone; just like with everyone else, his body dwarfs Kris’, especially with his head pillowed on Kris’ shoulder. He always feels too damn big. Kris doesn’t seem to notice or mind, though, carving a hand gently through his hair, no indication that Brian is over 200 pounds and draped across him. At some point, Roo joins them, flopping across their legs, and that’s how Brian falls asleep.


	36. Chapter 36

The quietest little snores are the easiest indication that Brian has fallen asleep.

That, and the fact that he slowly stretches out to his full height, toes hanging off the edge of the bed, completely relaxed in slumber. It occurs to Kris suddenly that, except for when they’re on the ice, Brian always seems to try to make himself _smaller:_ tucking his feet up when they cuddle, not sitting on anyone’s lap like so often happened with the team during their Cup celebrations. The rigid lines of his muscles tonight when he tried to keep his weight off Kris as they fucked, until Kris demanded he let go.

That’s part of why Kris is attracted to him, though; the idea of having a sub who is so much larger than him, the knowledge that he can control such a big man with only his whim and command is a heady thing. He’s not sure how to say that to Brian, though, so he doesn’t.

He moves his hand from stroking Brian’s hair down to his bare neck, tracing his fingers along the skin. “You need a collar,” he whispers. Roo’s collar was the best they had, but it wasn’t nearly good enough. He remembers Brian’s words from earlier, that a collar should be _given_, not bought. Well, if Dumo is waiting for someone to gift him a nice collar, Kris can at least do that.

In addition to setting up the trip, Marie from his agency team has also sent along personal shopper contacts in Boston, so he doesn’t need to try and fumble his way through necessities in a strange city. He pauses over their contact info. Would it be weird to have a personal shopper buy a couple thousand dollars in sex toys, including a nice selection of collars, and deliver it to Brian’s apartment?

They’ve probably bought worse and weirder, Kris decides, writing up his email. If _supplies_ are what Brian is missing...well, Kris is gonna solve that problem right now.

Easy enough.


	37. Chapter 37

Brian wakes up early, far earlier than he intended to, but it’s hard to sleep with a heavy warm weight on your back and someone mouthing at your neck. “Mmm,” he grunts, trying to burrow his face into the pillow. “Whazat?”

“You promised a blowjob,” Kris says in his ear, shifting his hips to press against Brian’s ass. He’s unmistakably hard even with his boxers still on, and Brian cracks open his eyes to look at his alarm.

“Jesus, it’s only 7,” he mumbles. 7:03a, to be exact, about an hour earlier than he usually wakes up in the summer. “Why?”

_“Only_ 7? I’m usually up with a workout done by now.”

“Figures you’d be a morning person,” Brian grunts. There’s a ring of teeth suddenly at his neck, right underneath his ear, and the gentle bite sends arousal zinging through him, waking him up in multiple ways.

Kris licks over the small nip. “You like that, eh?” he asks. “Come on, I even took your mangy mutt out on a walk for you.”

Brian blinks, rolling over onto his back so he can look Kris in the eye. “Really?” Of all the things he expected, Kris walking Roo was not one of them.

“Sure. I was awake, why not?” Kris shrugs. “Don’t look at me like that, I know how to walk a dog. Your keys were easy enough to find. It was no big deal. And then I shut her out so she wouldn’t slobber on us. You didn’t answer my question, you know. Did you like it?”

“The bite? I...yeah,” Brian admits. He thinks about Kris sucking a mark into his skin, something that would stay, something that Brian could _see_, and swallows again. “You could, uh, try it again.”

“I could,” Kris agrees, and he swings a leg over, climbing on top of Brian and sitting on his hips, a solid weight pressing him into the bed. Brian is still naked, and fully hard now himself; Kris grinds down, the soft fabric of his boxers rubbing against his bare dick, and he whimpers. If he wasn’t awake before, he sure is now.

Kris doesn’t make a move to nip him again, not yet. “Reach up, grab the headboard, don’t let go.”

The bed is on a solid metal frame, and Brian remembers picking it out, remembers looking at the slats and thinking that he could be tied or cuffed to them someday. He never truly expected it to happen, but here he is, reaching up and wrapping his hands around the frame. The bondage may be invisible, but it is still bondage. “Oui, Maître,” he says, lifting his neck to bare his throat just a bit more.

Kris doesn’t go for his neck, not first. Instead, he ducks his head and hovers just a few inches away from Brian’s chin, breathing hot and slow against the skin. He moves down, scraping his teeth gently against Brian’s shoulder; licking a line across his chest and then blowing cold air against it; gently sucking the faintest mark right next to his belly button.

All of this is punctuated by tiny nips, the smallest starbursts of pain, like he’s cataloguing Brian’s reaction to each thing, testing every body part for what he likes. His belly is too sensitive, and he yelps at that nip, but the closer that Kris comes to his neck, the more the pain turns into a squirmy strange sort of pleasure. It’s not something he ever expected to like, but this BDSM discovery journey has not just been Kris’, apparently. “Please, please,” he says, after it seems like ages that Kris has meandered his mouth all along Brian’s front. “My neck. You can - if you want, I mean, you can - bite. Mark me.”

Kris’ mouth stills just north of his nipple, a little spot of skin he’d been sucking on. “You want that?”

“Yes,” Brian whines, feeling the bed frame shudder under his grasp. “God, please.”

There’s a low growl from Kris, like the request is doing something for him as well, and he sits up to stare down at Brian. “Show me where,” he demands.

Brian tilts his chin up as far as he can go, feeling almost like an animal, the wolf showing his neck and submission to his alpha. “Please,” he says. “Maître.”

“Good boy,” Kris says, bending down to nuzzle the exposed skin. “Mon chaton,” he whispers against the skin, right before he bites down, a few inches below Brian’s right ear.

It’s a hard bite, nothing like the little nips Kris had been giving him before, and his body stiffens automatically at the shock of it. It _hurts_ \- but then it doesn’t, not as much at least, and he sags down, pliant like an actual kitten getting scruffed. There’s a strange high-pitched whine that he doesn’t recognize coming out of his own mouth.

Just as quickly, it’s over, Kris loosening his jaw and kissing gently at the spot. It will leave a mark for sure. “There,” Kris says. “Now everyone will know.”

The floaty feeling is already starting to take over, and Brian lowers his head to capture Kris’ mouth in a kiss. If he doesn’t kiss Kris right now - if his mouth doesn’t stay occupied - he is going to say something monumentally stupid that he can’t come back from. Something like _I love you_, and he’s not far enough in subspace to forget the consequences of that. “Please,” he gets out between kisses. “Fuck - please fuck - my mouth.”

“Just stay here, chaton,” Kris says, giving him one last kiss before pulling away to wiggle his boxers down, free his dick. The whole time, Brian stares at the ceiling, trying to pull himself together.

_Don’t say it. Don’t say it, don’t say it, don’t say it - _

Luckily, Kris’ cock provides a good gag. He scoots up Brian’s chest, sets his cock against Brian’s mouth. “Open up, chaton,” he says, and Brian does as he’s told.

Kris is gentle with it this morning. There’s no choking, no insistent press down his throat, Kris slowly and leisurely rocking the tip of his dick along Brian’s tongue and lips as he lays there, hands clasped to the bed frame. He floats the whole time, finally able to let go without fear of saying something stupid. “You look so good like this. Laying here and taking it, like you’re meant to have a cock in your mouth. My sweet boy,” Kris tells him, caressing his jaw. He looks warm and pleased and happy, which is exactly how Brian feels as well.

Eventually, the languid pace isn’t enough for Kris, and Brian ends up on his knees next to the bed so Kris can thrust faster without choking him out. The floaty feeling doesn’t let up, and even after Kris comes in his mouth he stays down there on the floor, resting his head against Kris’ thigh, trying to catch his breath. His own orgasm seems far away and unimportant right now, even though he’s still hard.

“Are you busy tonight?” Kris asks, petting a hand through his hair.

It’s a struggle to lift his head and focus on the words. Tonight...what’s tonight? “Huh?” he asks, blinking.

Kris chuckles. “I should have asked before. Didn’t expect you to go down, sorry. I mean, if you’re not busy tonight, I could come over. See, I was thinking I don’t get you off this morning. Thinking I let you languish all day being horny and then give you something special later on. I mean, if you’re not busy otherwise. Do you want to give me control of your orgasms today?”

“Yes,” Brian says, because that answer is easy enough, even in subspace. “Uh, tonight. Tonight...I don’t think I’m busy. Sure. Yeah. Whatever you want.”

“I have things to do today, but I want to know you’re being a good boy and not touching yourself. Even if it sucks. It will probably suck - but then tonight you’re going to be desperate for it, aren’t you? More than you usually are? And if you’re good, I have a surprise for you, so if you get a delivery, don’t open it. Not til I’m here. Understand?”

Brian still can’t remember if he has anything to do tonight, but fuck it, he’ll cancel it; he’ll cancel anything for this. “Oui, Maître,” he says. “I’ll be good. I promise.”

“I know you will.” He murmurs something in French, digs his fingers back into Brian’s hair and keeps him on his knees.

Brian stays down there for another long couple of minutes, letting his brain boot online. When he looks up next, he’s more clear-headed, feeling refreshed, and smiles at Kris. “I’m back,” he says with a yawn. “Sorry I went down.”

“No, that’s what you like, right? Don’t apologize for that.” Kris hesitates for a long moment. “I, er - I get something like it, too. But it’s not like yours. Yours seems to be going to this super relaxed place in your head or something, right? Me, it’s this rush of adrenaline, like the best win in the world. I don’t know how to explain it better. Just makes me want to…” He trails off, offers a smile. “Nevermind. How about breakfast?”

He feels just about back to normal - maybe even better, because he was tired when he woke up, and now he feels pretty great - so it’s an easy transition back to his feet and into some clothes. Roo greets him delightedly when he opens the door. “Oh I know, it’s been like an hour since you’ve seen me, the horrors,” he tells her, bending down to kiss her head before moving to the kitchen. Kris emerges as well, in his t-shirt and boxers, and Roo looks almost as excited to see him. “Well, I hate to tell you, but she loves you now. You gave her a W-A-L-K, so you’re pretty damn cool in her book.”

Kris pretends to sigh at her. “What a lump,” he says, but bends down to give her a couple scratches, which secretly delights Brian, and visibly delights Roo.

“So you’re gonna be here tonight?” Brian asks, finally taking out his phone to check his calendar - luckily, it’s free - and turning on one of his morning playlists, soft enough that they can talk. “With a package? I mean, I already got your package, but…”

Kris groans. “Too early for bad jokes.”

“I thought that was a pretty good one.”

“You thought wrong.” Kris is grinning regardless, and he nods. “Yeah, I’m free tonight. I figured I could take you to dinner? Your favorite restaurant? I don’t care how much it costs, we go all out. Tell me the time and I’ll be here. And yes, I have a package being sent here, and it’s a surprise, so don’t open.”

“Ooh, I love surprises. Hey, how do you like your eggs?”

It’s an easy discussion after that, moving from breakfast options to general chit-chat. Brian’s about halfway through breakfast when talk turns towards their schedules. “So today is a lot of gym and some errands and stuff,” he says. “But I have a skate with a couple other guys tomorrow. We got a coach, it’s really good. Shears will be there too. You should come, man.”

“I don’t have any gear here.”

Brain scoffs. “You don’t think if you call up that Warrior rep they won’t lend you some shit? Tanger, you should come. It’ll be nice to have my partner - uh, my D-partner - back for a day.” Brian and Kris have often called each other _partner,_ having been paired on the ice for years now, but it suddenly feels very important to emphasize the _defenseman_ part of that partnership. Jesus, if Kris knew about his crush -

He can’t pretend like he doesn’t want Kris to attend just to spend more time with him. But Tanger doesn’t need to know that.

“Maybe,” Kris muses. “Can I help with breakfast?”

“Huh, you ask me now that I’m pretty much done cooking?”

Kris’ grin tells Brian that might have been on purpose.


	38. Chapter 38

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A couple different options of a typical Tanger dress-up ( [one, ](https://i.imgur.com/NthQzaZ.png) [two](https://i.imgur.com/q83vcys.jpg) ) and Dumo's typical frat-boy aesthetic ( [one, ](https://i.imgur.com/4L5kLCh.jpg) [two](https://i.imgur.com/bHl73HR.jpg) ).

Kris heads back to his hotel room after breakfast. Even though it’s rated well, one of the best hotels in Boston, it feels stark and sterile after Brian’s apartment. Not a place he wants to spend much time in.

Which isn’t going to be much of a problem, at least for today. Michel, his former trainer in Montreal, has just started up his business here in Boston, and Kris spends most of the day training and hanging out at his new facility. “You’re welcome here for as long as you stay in Boston. Any time,” Michel promises enthusiastically. Kris doesn’t think it’s a lie; as a start-up, his client mix is younger athletes, and most of them seem a little star-struck by Kris. He’s probably good for business.

He books a massage in the afternoon, contacts the Warrior rep to borrow some gear (“not a problem!”), ignores a call and a text from Duper, takes a shower, and spends a stupid amount of time perusing his clothing options. Not like he doesn’t do that _anyway,_ but tonight he wants to look good. A suit is overkill, even though he expects they’ll be at one of Boston’s nicest restaurants with Dumo’s flair for picking out amazing places, but nice pants and a smart blazer should be appropriate and stylish.

Before heading out, he pauses in the mirror to smooth out a couple wrinkles from his shirt, but his hands pause as a thought pops into his head:

This seems an awful lot like a _date._

He frowns at himself in the mirror. “Neither of us said it was a date,” Kris tells his mirror-self, the words echoing in the bathroom. “Wearing something nice doesn’t make it a date.”

It’s silly, he decides. Kris has been to plenty of dinners with just two people, plenty of dinners where he’s dressed nicely, and none of them were dates. Brian himself seems to have no expectations about the two of them, which is good; Kris can’t afford to complicate things. Not when he’s so unsure himself of what he really wants. “Just dinner,” he tells himself with finality, and heads off for Brian’s place.

Boston traffic still sucks, but he makes it in good time. As he stands outside Brian’s door, he wonders when their reservation is made for - do they have time to open Kris’ gift before? Or need to wait till after? He finds himself excited to see Brian’s reaction to an actual, true collar - 

“Oh, fuck,” Brian says when he answers the door. He’s in his typical shorts-shirt-ballcap-sandals frat boy aesthetic, and he blinks dumbly at Kris’ outfit before a smirk curls on his mouth. “Are you wearing a suit?”

“It’s not exactly a _suit,”_ Kris says, suddenly feeling out of place, which always puts his hackles up. “Anyway, dumb question, you have eyes. You going to invite me in?”

“Shit, yeah,” Brian says, quickly moving out of the way and gesturing Kris inside. “But why are you wearing...that?”

“I said dinner, right? Your favorite place?”

Brian bursts out laughing, and Kris’ irritation at feeling like he’s missing something important dissipates at the sound of his joy, the realization that Brian is not maliciously teasing him. “I never said my favorite place was somewhere nice,” he says. “I was gonna go to Buff’s Pub. Forget Buffalo, this place has the best wings in the world.”

“I’m sorry, we’re going for...chicken wings?”

“You said my favorite restaurant in Boston. Those were your instructions, I’m just following what you asked for,” Brian insists, the grin never having left his face. “I gotta say though...you do look nice. Shit, really nice. But you’re gonna look pretty out of place at Buff’s.”

“You asshole,” Kris laughs, punching Brian in the hip; he pretends to stagger back. “You knew I meant somewhere fancy.”

Brian holds up his hands. “I didn’t! I swear! It’s no big deal, though. I have a couple places in mind for this nice dinner you want, I’ll just give them a call. Ugh, guess I gotta get dressed up too, huh? By the way, I don’t know what you had delivered, but holy hell.” Brian trots inside, pointing at a huge box on his dining room table.

“You’ll see.” Kris is excited himself to open the box, but they should wait to see what reservation time they get first. He doesn’t want any interruptions.

Unfortunately, Brian makes four calls and gets obviously shut down every time. “Nobody has any reservations for tonight,” he says, not sounding very disappointed. “Gee, guess we’re just gonna have to go to Buff’s. Darn.”

“Don’t sound so excited. I am not eating chicken wings in this,” Kris says. This jacket was _expensive._

“We’re like the same weight, right? I’m sure I have something that fits you.”

Kris can’t hide the groan. “I have to tell you, never have I said to myself, ‘boy I wish I had Dumo’s fashion.’”

“Beggars can’t be choosers as far as I’m concerned,” Brian declares. “Come on.”

He leads Kris to his closet, lets him have free reign. The shirt is easy enough; Brian has a few plain t-shirts. He selects a heather grey one, and while it’s longer than he’d normally wear it, it doesn’t look bad. Hell, it’s something he has in his closet at home.

The bottoms are significantly more challenging. Kris quickly realizes that Brian has no jeans that would fit, and turns his attention to the various shorts options. Even though they are around the same weight, Brian has four inches on Kris, and it’s apparently entirely in his legs. Most of the shorts are too tight and way too long. “Awful,” Kris declares after trying on his third pair. “Are these off the rack?”

“Do you tailor your casual clothes?” Kris lifts an eyebrow at the question, and Brian snorts. “Okay, never mind I asked. Yeah, they’re off the rack, Tanger.”

“Terrible,” he says. “You need my help.”

“Oh yeah?” Brian’s tone of voice has shifted from playful to something a little sharper, more interested, and Kris glances back to see Brian’s attention fixed on him. “You wanna?”

“I think _you_ want to.” Kris leaves the shorts for a moment, stalks over to Brian, who watches him approach with wide eyes. He makes a satisfying squeak when Kris fists his hand in the front of his shirt and holds him firm. “Next time, we’re going somewhere nice. I’m going to dress you. You will wear exactly what I tell you to.”

Brian nods eagerly. “Yes - oui, Maître.”

“You’re going to look fucking handsome, I will make sure of it. But then, underneath…” Kris skims his hand down Brian’s front, sets it right against his crotch, and Brian’s hips jump. He remembers that he didn’t let Brian come today, and the memory, the sudden desperation in Brian’s eyes - for Kris, for _him_ \- makes him smile. “Underneath will be all for me. Maybe no underwear. Maybe a plug. Maybe something else. Whatever I want.”

“Whatever you want,” Brian repeats, sounding a little breathless. “I’m - I’m yours. To do with as you want.”

“That’s right,” Kris says, yanking him into a biting kiss. Hell, he knows it’s just for the scene, but he thinks maybe, just maybe he could get used to that. _I’m yours, to do with as you want._

Fuck, he wants.

At least right now. But _forever_ is a big, scary word, not something he’s sure of yet, so he pulls away and gently pats Brian’s cheek, then trails his hand down to touch the purplish hickey from this morning peeking out from Brian’s shirt. “Good boy,” he says. “You stay here while I try on the rest of your options.”

Brian’s quiet for a long moment as he seems to fight with getting himself back under control, but when he does, he giggles at Kris’ awkward attempt to fit into the next pair of shorts. “Man, they say Sid is stacked. I never realized your ass was so big too.”

“Maybe you’re just skinny, you think of that? Keep it up,” Kris warns playfully. “Remember I said you’d get a reward if you were a _good boy?_ I don’t see a lot of good boys right now.”

Brian mimes zipping his mouth shut, but his grin comes back shortly after, and Kris can’t help but return it. Definitely not a date, he decides. Just two friends having fun.

Finally, he finds a pair of athletic shorts that are loose enough to fit. They hang too low to be anything he’d own, but they don’t look terrible. They’re close enough to the same shoe size that Kris can wear Brian’s least-offensive pair of slides, and he stands in front of Brian, dressed almost entirely - minus his underwear - in Brian’s clothes. “Terrible taste,” he says again.

Brian’s smile widens. “I think you look great,” he says, softly. “I think you always look great.”

“Buttering me up after insulting me earlier, eh?”

“Oh, uh - yeah,” Brian laughs. “Is it working?”

“We’ll see. Ready to go?”

“Wait, I don’t even get to see what’s in this box you got delivered?”

“After dinner,” Kris promises. “Trust me, it’s worth the wait.”

Thank god he did not wear anything nice, Kris thinks once he steps inside the place. _Restaurant_ is being generous; Kris would call it a bar with some seating instead. It’s loud, and filled with Boston sports memorabilia and a Red Sox game on television, and the waitress flaps her hand at them when they walk in. “Anywhere!” she calls to them.

They choose a booth as far away from the bustle as they can, and Brian sits down with a secret smile. “What?” Kris asks. “What’s that grin for?”

“I should have let you wear the suit,” Brian says, and bursts out laughing. Kris kicks him under the table.

The menu has a surprising amount of variety, and Kris puts in a couple orders to try a few different flavors, while Brian orders thirty wings in traditional Buffalo. “Jesus, thirty?” Kris says, after the waitress bustles off.

“Oh I can eat like _sixty,”_ Brian says. “But you know, we have plans tonight. Hey, you think any more about coming to the skate tomorrow?”

The question is casual and blase, and Kris thinks that Brian is probably just being polite to invite him, but - what the hell. “I could. You really think I should come?”

“Sure,” Brian shrugs. “Yeah. It’d be fun.”

“Then I’ll come.”

“Cool.”

The wings come quickly and hot and Kris has to admit they’re pretty good. Brian absolutely crushes them - for being so lean, he can eat a horrific amount of food - and in between lulls in their conversation, his eyes are drawn to the Red Sox game on a television above them. Kris glances up at it to see two of the Sox players in the dugout holding hands. “Who’s that?” he asks.

“Oh, those guys? Andrew Benintendi and Brock Holt. They’re dating. MLB is weird about a lot of shit but they’re way ahead of the other leagues in regards to not giving a fuck about dating coworkers. Crazy to me that the NHL still doesn’t officially allow it.”

“Crazy,” Kris agrees, watching as Brian licks the bright red buffalo sauce off his fingers, one by one, sucking them into his mouth and swirling his tongue around the digits. It’s not even a tease, not meant to entice Kris - he’s back to watching the Red Sox game on television as he does it - but the sight of his lips curled around his fingers, tongue occasionally flicking out, is far hotter than it has any right to be.

Still, his statement is another reason why Kris needs to think very, very carefully about this whole thing. What they have, what they could have, is not officially allowed. It can be done, obviously - Sid and Geno are proof of that, plus Olli and Schultzy are dating, too - but all of them are solid, happy, drama-free.

Kris has never been accused of _drama-free._

The check comes, and Brian cringes. “I forgot, it’s cash only,” he says, and Kris sighs expansively and throws up his arms.

“You think I carry American cash? I’ve been back in Canada for almost a month.”

“Right, no Monopoly money accepted here,” Brian says, while Kris squawks in protest. “I got it.”

“I guess that means I still owe you. You know, a nice meal?” Kris hesitates; he doesn’t want to seem eager, or desperate, but : “Maybe tomorrow? I don’t know how much longer I’ll be in town, you know.”

“Oh - yeah. Uh, sure, tomorrow works for me. But you pick the place.”

Kris leans forward. “You meant it? When you said I can dress you to what I want?”

The waitress comes along to take their check, and Brian smiles and tells her to keep the change before turning back to Kris, dropping his voice low. “Of course. Whatever you want.” He silently mouths _Maître,_ grinning a secret smile, and his mouth is so fucking red - probably from the buffalo sauce, but all Kris wants to do is kiss it.

“Back to your place now,” Kris demands, and Brian bolts out of his seat, seemingly on-board.

There’s an anticipatory energy as they drive back to Brian’s, and the second the door closes they’re all over each other even as Roo nudges against their feet. Kris gets Brian pinned up against the wall as they kiss desperately; Brian is already hard in his shorts, pressed against Kris’ hip. “Wait, wait,” Kris breaks away, gasping, mouth tasting like buffalo sauce. “Wait. Patience. You're going to open your present first.”

Brian fidgets, adjusting himself through his shorts and taking a long exhale, just this side of frustrated. “Okay. Oui, Maître.”

“I know, I know, you’ll get off soon. This first. Come on.”

Kris hopes the massive tip he left for the personal shopper means that the results are going to be good. The box at least is huge, and Brian gets it open and peers inside. “Oh my god,” he says. “What...is this a giant box of sex toys? Oh my god, there’s rope, and - oh, _jeez - “_

“Let me see,” Kris demands, and Brian obligingly opens the box wider, takes a step back so Kris can see.

“How did you…?”

“You should really use a personal shopper,” Kris says, peeking into the box. It’s perfect. There’s ropes of all kinds, gags, a variety of buttplugs, cuffs, collars, and more. Even better, he sees no implements of pain: no crops, no floggers, nothing like that. His instructions were very explicit, and it seems like they were followed.

Brian picks up a small medical-looking device with wide eyes, and Kris realizes it’s a cock cage. He saw a couple of them at the BDSM club in Montreal. “Is this - um, you picked this out?” Brian asks softly.

“I had this selection picked out for me. Based on what I wrote, it seems the shopper thought you might like this.” Kris gently takes it from Brian. “You did say you wanted me to control your orgasms, right?”

When he looks up next, Brian is blushed bright red. “I, um - “

“We can talk about it later, don’t make a decision now.” Kris puts it back in the box in favor of the collars. There’s six of them, all different colors and patterns, and Brian audibly gasps when Kris pulls them out.

“Collars?” he murmurs.

“You said you wanted one. You said it should be given. You want me to pick one out for you?” Brian seems speechless, nodding, so Kris scoots close and holds up each collar in turn. Two of them are far too feminine, lace and bows, so Kris discards them immediately. One of them is chain-link, which Kris actually likes, but it doesn’t feel quite right for Brian, so that’s out too.

That leaves three. Kris is drawn to one in particular, a rich black leather with a soft interior. Written on the side, in looping cursive, are the words _good boy_. “This is the one,” Kris declares, holding it up, letting Brian see. “This is yours. My good boy. Show me your neck, and I’ll put it on you.”

Brian still seems in disbelief, but he readily tilts his head to the ceiling. Just as Kris is getting close with the collar, he jerks back, holding out his hands. “Wait,” he cries. “Tanger - Kris. Hold on.”

The use of his real name during the scene startles him. Fuck, did he read this wrong? _Fuck._ “Brian?”

“I - god. Please don’t laugh at me, okay, but I have always - this has always been a - “ He visibly kicks himself, shaking his head, starting over. “This is something I’ve wanted for a long time, okay? A Dom collaring me with something they picked out. But I can’t - Kris, if you’re gonna give me this collar and be gone tomorrow, I can’t. I can’t have this for one or two days and then...fuck...never again. And I’m not saying we have to fucking _date_ or be together the whole summer, god we definitely don’t, but...two days? I can’t. I’m sorry.”

“Hey, I never said two days. When did I say two days?” He ignores the sinking feeling about Brian insisting they don’t date, stepping a little closer. “How long?”

“I - I don’t know.”

“How about this. I have shit to do here in Boston anyway. So I stay here until your next league game, and then right after we go to Montreal for a week. You wanted to see my private jet, right? You’re back in time for your next game. Look, I...I owe you. I fucked up your tie. Let me buy you a new suit. My tailor in Montreal is the best.” Immediately, he regrets the words, not because he doesn’t want it - fuck, he does - but it all sounds a touch desperate to his ears. “So we get two weeks.”

“Two weeks,” Brian repeats. “Tanger, it was just a tie, you don’t owe me a whole suit.”

“Maybe I want to help out with that terrible taste of yours. And you know what? You’re my friend, and I want to see you happy, so maybe we go to this club I’ve been attending in Montreal. It’s a BDSM club. You could find your Dom there,” Kris says, and of all the shit that has just come out of his mouth that he regrets, this is the one he’s kicking himself about most. Because what if Brian finds his perfect fucking Dom and Kris is left there alone and it turns out he _does_ want Brian, and - 

It’s too late now. Brian is nodding, a small, hopeful smile on his face. “Okay,” he says. “I’d like that. Okay. Two weeks.”

Kris holds up the collar again, and Brian nods, baring his neck and squatting down so Kris can reach it easier. “No,” Kris says, nudging him until he straightens up. “Stand up. Your full height. I want to see you all, every inch of you. All of it, mine.”

Brian’s Adam apple bobs as he swallows hard, but he stands back up, lets Kris secure the collar. It goes right over the mark he sucked into Brian’s neck this morning, and he gently touches it - _mine, mine_ \- before stepping back to get a full view of Brian in his new collar.

Fuck, he looks good. Kris never expected to be affected by this, but there’s something about Brian in black leather, in the collar that _he_ picked out, that sends a thrill up his spine. Brian’s hands fly to his throat when the collar gets buckled in, touching the leather, the O-ring in front, tracing his fingers along the words, like he can scarcely believe it.

“Do you like it?” Kris asks, far more invested in the answer than he would have thought.

A smile spreads over Brian’s face, brilliant and wide, and when he inhales it sounds a little shaky to Kris’ ears. “It’s amazing. Just what I always pictured. Perfect. I love...I love, um, love it. Maître - kiss me? Please?”

“Bien sûr, mon chaton,” Kris says - of course - and when Kris steps up to gather him close and kiss him, he can still feel the smile on Brian’s face through the kiss.


	39. Chapter 39

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe I forgot to note this, but as many of you reminded me, Brian was recently on NHL's cooking show ("Skates and Plates"). The guest chef teaching Brian the recipe was French and there was a very brief exchange of French words at around 1:30 [here](https://youtu.be/51Mdar94GvQ), and yes Brian's accent is just as bad as I portray in this fic! Bonus, skip to around the 16:00 mark and later to see how flushed and red Brian gets after doing literally anything.

A collar.

A real fucking _collar._ Brian feels almost delirious with it as he kisses Kris. Despite being otherwise fully clothed in non-fetish gear - hell, he’s still got his Sox cap on, the brim twisted backwards - he feels just as submissive as if he were naked and wearing that cock cage.

And holy shit, that cage. That’s something they need to talk about.

Later, Brian thinks as Kris swipes his tongue along his lower lip. Definitely something to talk about...later.

“Get naked and kneel for me,” Kris murmurs in his mouth, kissing him one last time before turning away to peek back into the box.

“Oui, Maître,” he says, stepping back and tossing his hat onto the couch, followed by his shirt. A quick glance at Roo shows her fast asleep, rolled over on her back and twitching. She is snoring, which is not the sexiest sound in the world, but it does mean she probably won’t wake up and come barging in on their scene. He gave her a hell of a walk right before Kris came over for this exact reason.

For some reason, seeing Roo reminds him of Kris taking her on a walk this morning. It sends a weird, warm glow through his body, a strange happiness. Whatever partner he ends up with is going to need to love Roo, and if even the notoriously-prickly Kris Letang seems to like her, that means anyone else will surely love her.

That’s never been Brian’s worry, though. It’s finding someone to love _him_ that’s the tough part.

Someday, he thinks with a firm conviction as he strips off his pants and boxers and gingerly sinks to his knees. Kris didn’t say what he should do with his hands, so he takes the opportunity to touch the collar again, exploring it with his fingers. There’s a metal O-ring in the front, a thick circle with two small grommets flanking it. The back is a buckle, easy to take off but solid now that it’s clasped, and the words _good boy_ are inlaid along the side of his neck, stitched in, a different feel than the smooth leather surrounding it. He traces the letters as Kris paws through the box, making some considering noises.

“This is interesting,” Kris says, pulling out rope - no, it’s not rope, it’s a length of beautiful silk ribbon, thick and black. He holds it up in front of Brian, like he’s picturing what to do with it. “You wrapped up in this. Not for today, but...maybe. Ah, here - _this_…” The toy he pulls out is unmistakable, a long spreader bar, and Brian inhales a quick breath. “Spreading bar?”

“Spreader bar, Maître.”

“Spreader, not spreading.” Kris snaps his fingers, sets the bar down. “I always forget. This is what I want tonight. And this, of course.” He pulls out two sets of ropes, seemingly identical except one is red and one is green. “Which one for you? I want you to pick.”

“Um. Red?” The green is sort of ugly looking, he thinks.

“I like red the best,” Kris agrees. “You want to know why?”

“Why?”

“Mmm, no. Say it in French. _Pourquoi?”_

Brian licks his lips, dropping his hands to his lap. He always gets nervous when speaking French, but Kris obviously likes it. “Pourquoi?” he says, the word sounding Americanized and awkward to his ears.

Kris laughs, clearly thinking the same thing. “Say it again.”

“Pourquoi?” He tries to add a little French accent this time, which earns another laugh.

“Good,” Kris says, taking a few steps until he’s right in front of Brian, forcing him to crane his neck upwards. On his knees, Kris _towers_ over him, and it makes him feel especially submissive. “It’s because you always flush so pretty. Blush? Flush? Either way, you get so pretty red, and the red ropes accent that.” Kris reaches down to trail his fingers along Brian’s cheek, along that same blush that Brian can tell is already in full-force. Growing up, he always hated the red tinge that would accompany seemingly anything - exertion, embarrassment, arousal, an orgasm - but right now he wouldn’t trade it for the world.

“Merci, Maître,” he says, leaning into the touch. Kris thumbs at his mouth, and he opens his jaw, lets Kris press his thumb inside, sucks gently on it.

Kris licks his lips, staring down at him. “Such a sweet mouth,” he says, pulling his thumb back and then pushing it forward again, repeating it a few times, like he’s fucking Brian’s mouth with one finger. “Do you remember how to say ‘please’ in French?”

The thumb is withdrawn so he can answer, and it takes Brian a moment to think of it. “Um - s’il vous plaît,” he says.

“Remember that,” Kris says, bending down to kiss him, a rough and nippy little kiss. “You’re gonna be saying it a lot tonight.”

That’s quite a promise, and Brian grins, excited, as Kris turns back to the box.

“I almost forgot,” Kris says, scooping out one last item. It’s chain-link and leather, a long leash, and Kris holds it up consideringly. “I know you told me once...no snapping fingers at you. You said you felt like a bad dog, right? But I think you’d look very nice on a leash, crawling next to me, if you’re willing.”

Brian exhales, staring at the leash. That’s never really been a part of his fantasies, but...well, it’s certainly not a ‘no’. “Maître, if you’d like it, I’ll do it.”

“But you won’t get anything out of it?”

“I don’t know,” Brian admits. “But I’m willing to try.” God knows he’s discovered a couple kinks during these sessions he never thought he’d be into. Maybe this will be another?

Kris bends down to snap the leash onto the O-ring, giving an experimental tug, too gentle to really jerk Brian, although he can feel the collar pull in that direction. “Hmm,” Kris says, an interested hum, and he collects the spreader bar and rope with his free hand. “Alright. Let’s go. Bedroom.”

Most of the apartment is carpeted, which is a plus for his knees as he crawls next to Kris towards the bedroom. Kris walks slowly, never yanking him, letting him set the pace, and he mulls the whole situation over in his mind as he moves. By the time he’s in the bedroom, he’s decided that the crawling bit doesn’t do much for him, but he doesn’t mind the leash. Hell, he kind of likes it. He thinks about sitting at Kris’ feet while they watch a movie, leashed up and held firmly in place, and he definitely likes that.

He’s honest when asked about the experience. “The crawling isn’t my kink, but if you liked it, I don’t mind doing it. The leash, uh - in other situations, it could be fun.”

“You’re sure?” Kris reaches down to run his fingers through Brian’s hair, practically petting him. “You’re willing to do it for me?”

“Oui, Maître. Did you like it?”

Brian looks up to see Kris watching him closely, a telltale bulge in his shorts. “I did. You, on your knees next to me, crawling for _me - “_ Kris seems to want to say more, but scowls, English seemingly failing him. “I liked it,” he finally finishes with conviction.

“Then I liked it,” Brian says, pressing close to Kris’ leg and rubbing his cheek along it. Knowing how much Kris liked the crawling makes it that much better for Brian; he wants to make his Dom happy, and this is an easy thing.

Kris is tugging on the leash then, urging him to his feet, and he’s shaking his head with a low chuckle when Brian stands. “Mon chaton, how are you so _sweet,”_ he asks, letting go of the leash to cup Brian’s face in his hands and yanking him close for a kiss. “You just want to make me happy, don’t you?”

“Oui, Maître,” Brian whispers. They’re close enough to practically be sharing the same breath, Kris’ mouth hovering just inches from his. “I’m yours. I _exist_ to make you happy.”

Kris bites out a soft French curse and closes the gap in another searing kiss, and Brian melts against him. Kris roams his hands up and down his naked body like he owns it (which, Brian supposes, here and now he does); gently scratching his nails down Brian’s back, down to squeeze his ass, skimming up his sides. By the time Kris gets to his cock, wrapping a loose fist around it and stroking, he’s hard as hell and aching from the lack of orgasm today. “On the bed, chaton,” Kris orders, letting his hand drop back to his side and letting go of the leash, which earns a whine from Brian even as he obeys and backpedals to his bed.

“Have I been good?” If Kris is going to deny him another orgasm, Brian thinks he might explode.

“I don’t know, have you? What do you think? Give me your hands, chaton, and tell me.”

Brian dutifully sticks out his arms, hands clasped together to make it easy for Kris to tie them. “I was good, I promise,” he says. “You left this morning, and I went and got my workout. Luckily my gym has personal shower stalls, because the second I touched down there to wash myself...I was so hard. In my _gym!_ Because of you - but I didn’t get off. And then during my errands, I kept just daydreaming. Thinking about you. What you were gonna do to me tonight.”

Normally, getting tied up is almost soothing in a way, but all Brian feels right now is a thrumming urge to get off, even as the ropes tighten around his wrists. Describing his day has almost made the situation worse. Kris finishes the tie with a quick knot and gently guides him backwards, so he’s lying face-up, hands tied together with the red rope and raised high over his head. The leash is still clipped on, coiled on the sheets next to his head. “Feet apart,” Kris says with a smile. “What did you think about? What was I doing to you?”

“Fucking me,” Brian answers. “I - you know I - you know I need your cock to be satisfied, Maître.”

Every time Kris beams at the words - like he’s doing now - the dirty talk feels just a little less ridiculous. “Just wait,” he says, as he fastens Brian’s ankles into the spreader cuffs. The spreader is clearly not meant for a 6’4 man’s legs, and what is obviously supposed to be a full spread-eagle on most people ends up being barely over shoulder-width for Brian. Still, it’s effective. He tests it gently, an odd sensation to not be able to close his legs. “Lift your legs up, chaton. High as you can.”

Brian does as asked, and Kris takes the second length of rope and ties the bar to the metal slats in the bed, so Brian’s legs are suspended high in the air, spread wide, ass exposed. “Don’t break your bed,” Kris says, then pauses and smirks. “Or do. It’s your bed, after all. Your hands will stay above your head at all times. Don’t make me tie those to the bed, too.”

“Oui, Maître,” Brian says, sounding breathless to his own ears. Tied up and leashed, spread-eagle, wearing a fucking _collar_, a beautiful Master surveying his naked and owned body to decide what exactly to do with him. Who would have ever thought? And to be someone he trusts completely - “Please,” he breathes, then corrects it to: “S’il vous plaît.”

“The first of many,” Kris says approvingly, kneeling between his legs. Brian can’t see what he’s doing down there easily, so he lays back and stares at the ceiling in anticipation, breaths coming fast and shallow.

He doesn’t expect the wet tongue at his entrance and a shocked, loud groan escapes. “Maître - !” he yips, legs quivering uselessly. It feels so _good,_ but - 

Kris lifts his head, eyes narrowed. “Something’s wrong,” he says. “You’re all tense. You don’t like it?”

“It’s not that,” Brian says, and Kris’ eyes narrow further.

“So what? Chaton, tell me.”

Brian exhales loudly. It’s not that he’s never been rimmed before, but it’s not like it’s a _typical_ thing. He had a fuck buddy in college that liked doing it, but he remembers the guy was insistent on Brian being shaved if he was going to. He is definitely not shaved right now. Trimmed, sure. But the idea of Kris getting a mouthful of his hair is...unappealing. “I should have - if I knew you were going to, I would have shaved, or waxed, or something. I’m sorry.”

Kris tilts his head, like the statement is the most ridiculous thing he’s heard. “You rimmed me awhile back. Was I shaved?”

“No, but - “

“You got hair in your mouth when you did it?”

“I mean - yes?” Kris, despite his meticulous outward appearance, has never been perfectly shorn in regards to body hair, and Brian has always found that to be appealing. A few hairs didn’t bother him, but he’s not sure he can say the same for Kris.

“Right. It’s a natural thing. I choose to do this, hair and all. If I want you shaved, I would have told you to do it already.” Kris bends down, gently kisses the inside of his thighs, sending a shiver through Brian. “So stop worrying about that and enjoy it, eh? I want you just the way you are.”

“Oh.” That last statement practically sinks him down to subspace on its own. It makes him feel..._cherished,_ the way Kris is talking about him, accepting him without conditions. Kris keeps kissing the inside of his thighs, gentle wet kisses until he hovers over a spot and breathes out, “Mine,” and then he bites.

The bed makes an ugly metal sound as his legs jerk against the rope tied to the slats, but nothing seems to break. The noise he makes is an inarticulate word; just like the bite on his neck, it’s a shock of pain and then a dull fuzzy pleasure as Kris soothes what is sure to be an obvious mark with kisses and licks. “Good boy, good boy,” Kris praises. “How was that one?”

“Uhhhh…” He liked the bite better on his neck, but this was still good. English seems to be failing him right now, though. All he can do is stare at the ceiling and blink stupidly and let the warm glow of being _owned_ seep through every pore. Owned, owned, tied up and marked, his Master wants him just the way he is, he’s going to get an orgasm because he’s a good boy. “Uh,” he says again, and Kris laughs, sounding delighted.

“Good boy,” Kris says, and then Kris’ wet kisses trail lower, and lower, until they’re right over his hole.

Kris rims like he fucks, with the possessive air of taking something that is owed to him, no reservations or hesitations but still a lot of care, all the things that have made him a natural Dom. Brian’s never been in a spreader bar before, and his legs want to jerk and kick and flex but they’re held solidly in place until his brain gets the message that all he can do is _submit._ Kris notices it too, when Brian stops fighting it. “That’s it. Just take what I give you,” he says, pressing a finger inside. Even without lube, he opens right up from what Kris did with his mouth.

“Please,” Brian murmurs, feeling like he’s about to shake apart. The rimming felt so good, but it’s not _enough._ He needs a hand on his cock. How many times can he get hard today and still not finish?

“Say it right, mon chaton.”

“S’il vous plaît. S’il vous _plaît,_ Maître, I can’t - “

“You can.” Kris gently presses in a second finger, licking around where his fingers are buried deep. “You can wait. I want you to come while I’m inside you, fucking my sweet boy.”

“I’ve been _good - “_

“You’ve been so good. That’s why you’re getting an orgasm tonight. I just have to get you ready, and then you’ll get what you need.”

It’s torture to have to keep his hands above his head. They’re bound together, but not tied to anything. He could reach down and touch himself.

He _could,_ but he’s a good boy, so he won’t, no matter how much he wants to.

Kris is meticulous with it. There’s been no lube in sight, just messy saliva, and yet Kris works his way to three fingers buried in Brian’s ass, massaging his prostate with no pain, just a delirious sort of pleasure. Kris wants him to use the French phrase instead of just ‘please’ to beg, but it’s so hard, and the words start slurring together. “S’il - plaît,” he mutters. “Vous, s’il vous - oh _god.”_

Kris doesn’t correct him, and when he finally sits back up and wipes off his mouth, he’s got a pleased smile on his face at making Brian lose his grasp of language. “You’re ready. But you will tell me if it hurts,” he orders, patting Brian’s rump, and Brian nods frantically.

The lube is still on the bedside table from earlier, and after he shucks off his clothes (well, Brian’s clothes), leaving them in a careful pile on the floor, he finally grabs it. Brian watches as he slicks a little lube onto himself, stroking it along his length. “S’il vous plaît,” he whispers. His toes curl with the anticipation. God, he wants - he _needs._

With his legs tied high, it’s easy access. “I could get used to the view,” Kris teases, and Brian’s about to protest, but the complaint dies on his lips as Kris nudges against his hole. “Tonight’s for you, chaton. I want you to tell me what feels good. Don’t be afraid of this - “ Kris scowls, flicking his gaze to the ceiling to try and remember the phrase. “Topping from the bottom? It’s not that. I’m demanding you tell me. If you want me to speed up, or go slower, or - you’re going to tell me what feels best. Is that clear?”

It all tends to feel good to Brian, but he nods eagerly. “Oui, Maître.”

Kris pushes inside, and Brian groans. It feels good - what could feel better than this? But as Kris starts to move, changing his depth and angle, there’s a thrust that sends a lightning bolt straight up his spine. “Right there,” he pants out. “Oh - that. Yeah, yeah.”

“Faster? Slower?”

“Mmm - “ He doesn’t know, is the thing. Just the angle itself feels so fucking good, probably right against his prostate. “Try - um, try both?”

It’s a slow, filthy grind that feels best right now. “That,” Brian yelps, head rolling back. The ropes on both his wrists and from the spreader bar to the headboard creak as he quivers. “More, just keep - like that - fuck, you feel so deep.”

“Feels good? You look good, chaton. Like I said, red all over. For me.” Kris exhales, reaching down to run a thumb along Brian’s nipple. “Keep making those sweet noises.”

“Maître,” Brian cries out. Even the gentle touch against his nipple feels electric, like his whole body is on fire. He arches into the touch. “Okay, faster, faster now, _now_ \- oh, _shit - “_

Kris changes the pace the second he asks for it, pounding hard. His hands are on Brian’s hips, holding him down, and it’s a good thing because Brian feels like he’s going to shake out of his skin. It feels like an orgasm, except the pleasure isn’t just from his dick; it’s like his entire body is having an orgasm, fingers to toes and everything in between. He doesn’t know how to describe it except it’s one of the best things he’s ever felt, and he thrashes and cries out. A few moments later the pleasure narrows down to his groin, and he’s coming all over his stomach, untouched.

Kris curses in French as he watches, and his thrusts get more frantic, more erratic, his fingers digging into Brian’s hips and leaving little indents. Brian lays there panting and whimpering from the overstimulation until Kris finishes with his own groan, buried deep inside him. “Maître,” he whispers. His voice feels fried. Hell, everything feels fried.

“I didn’t even _touch_ you,” Kris says, and he sounds triumphant.

“Nope,” Brian says, a goofy smile on his face from what just happened. “Maître, uh - plug?”

“Plug?”

Brian waves vaguely at the door. Words seem difficult right now. “The box - I think, if you want, there were plugs. Like. You know.”

Kris’ eyebrows go up. “You want?”

“It would be nice. To be full of you,” Brian says, and Kris snags the leash and yanks it so Brian has no choice but to lift up. Kris ducks under the bar, meeting him with a hard kiss.

“You are the best,” Kris says fiercely. “I’ll be back, chaton.”

He can’t go anywhere if he wanted to, still tied to the bed, so just flops back down and nods, still delightfully zoned out in subspace. “Oui, Maître,” he says. He must doze off, because the next thing he’s aware of is a plug sliding inside him. “Oh,” he moans softly, still half-asleep; it feels so _big,_ even with the sex they just had.

“Shh, shh,” Kris soothes. “I know. It’s a big one. You can take it. There you go.”

It pops into place, and Brian feels...full, but pleasantly so, a nice reminder of what they just did. “Can I keep the collar on,” he asks muzzily, as Kris starts to untie him.

“Of course, chaton,” Kris says, kissing him gently. Brian lays back, happy at the proclamation, and just lets things happen, boneless and completely submissive as Kris uncuffs his ankles, unties his hands, kissing his wrists as they’re freed, wiping off his stomach. “How are your wrists?”

“Mmm,” he mutters.

“No, wake up a second and answer. Your wrists, chaton.”

He’s gently shaken awake, enough to blink up at Kris and flex his fingers. “Good, Maître,” he yawns. “Bien.”

“Good boy.” Kris gathers him in his arms, kissing his temple. “Nap if you want,” he says. “I’ll wake you. A quick twenty minute power nap for you, eh?”

“Yes, Master,” Brian mutters against Kris’ chest, too out of it for French, and drifts off.


	40. Chapter 40

The speed at which Brian can fall asleep after sex is honestly impressive to Kris. In barely three minutes, Brian goes from awake and talking to snoozing on Kris’ shoulder, deep even breaths so Kris knows he’s really out. He’s turned just enough that Kris can see a hint of the plug nestled between his cheeks, and between that and the collar still secured around Brian’s neck, it’s quite the sight. Unlike Brian’s satisfied doze, he feels amped up, like he’s ready for someone to burst in and challenge him for the sleeping man in his arms. _Come fucking try me if you want him,_ he wants to tell the world. _Mine._

Except, of course, he’s not. The inappropriate possessive streak leaves him...unsettled. _Scared?_ No, that’s preposterous, the idea of being scared of love, despite what Duper insists. ‘Uncomfortable’ is probably the better word.

Brian has his hand splayed on Kris’ chest, right atop his heart - fittingly - and Kris covers it with his own. If he asked for them to be more, would Brian say yes? Probably, but he can't be positive. It’s one thing to enjoy the sex, but...

Brian wants a relationship, he knows that; and yes, he’s pretty sure Brian has always had a little crush on him. But it’s another thing entirely to actually go through with it and date a teammate. It’s still another thing to date _Kris_, who has fucked half the league and hell, most of the Penguins. Does Brian really, truly want to be saddled with that baggage? Kris thinks about Brian turning him down - gently, he’d do it so gently - and it makes him nauseous.

What if Brian did say yes, though?

It would be perfect, for awhile at least. They’d have an amazing summer together, like they’re doing right now. Maybe go on vacation, some little island, watching Brian get tan, listening to the sound of the ocean waves crash through the open window while Kris takes him apart in their bed. And then hockey would start, and - 

Kris knows the ending to this story. He’s been through it once before.

It seems like a lifetime ago, but it was barely ten years since his whirlwind romance with Sid. A magical summer of sex and bonding turned sour as the season, and living together, exposed every one of the cracks in their relationship. All those intense, ultra-competitive tics from Sid that Kris found charming in the summer were suddenly frustrating; Kris’ demanding nature that Sid smiled fondly at once upon a time turned him bitingly irritated instead. By the time Kris was benched in the playoffs (for the fucking walking corpse of Darryl Sydor, of all people), it was all over. They lost the Cup to the Red Wings, and instead of finding solace in each other, Kris thought he might be happy never seeing Sid’s face again.

_“It’s not you,” he remembers Sid saying when they broke up, and he had to bite back a caustic comment. “But it’s not me either. Not entirely. I don’t think either of us are ready to date anyone, to be honest. I think it was all too fast, too soon.”_

_“I think you’re just married to hockey,” Kris had said, unable to resist one last jab. “You don’t have room for anything else, do you?”_

_He’d expected a return volley, but instead Sid had just offered a sad smile. “Maybe,” he admitted._

But it turns out it wasn’t hockey that was the culprit, because now Sid is happily together with Geno and Anna. It was Kris all along; he’s the one that can’t hold down a fucking relationship. If he wasn’t ready for anyone then - if he fucked it all up with one of the best men he’s ever met - then what would make him think he’s ready now?

There’s a sudden flood of anger at himself, and he squeezes Brian’s hand. He gets bored easily, he’s flighty, he’s not reliable, he’s a _fuck up_ but at least he can goddamn admit it to himself and that makes him a better man than most. That doesn’t mean he needs to take down Brian with him.

Gently, slowly, he shifts out from underneath Brian, making sure to set a pillow under his head before doing so. Brian makes a small mumble but keeps sleeping as Kris slides off the bed, gathering clothes and throwing them on. He’s wide awake now, mind racing with anger at himself, regrets about the past, and questions about the future. He needs to do something with this energy.

Roo is awake when he opens the bedroom door, gnawing on a toy, which she drops as he approaches in favor of staring at him with her tongue lolling out of her mouth. “Mutt,” he whispers. “You want a walk?”

She does, if her wiggling is any indication, so he slips on his shoes and leashes her up and makes sure to grab his phone and a key on the way out the door. “Oh, you’re back,” the lobby doorman greets him cheerfully, and he’s not sure how to feel about it, that he’s over here enough at Brian’s apartment to be recognized.

Despite his hesitation, he’s going to need to have this conversation at some point, so he dials Duper as he steps outside. “Holy fuck,” Pascal answers. “Look who’s on my phone.”

“I can hang up right now,” Kris says, drawing a few glances from someone else walking their dog in the other direction. Speaking loud French in Boston is probably unusual, but fuck it, nobody’s gonna be able to understand him, he can be as loud as he wants. “Don’t tempt me.”

“You’re still in Boston, I take it.”

“For the next few days,” Kris says, letting Roo sniff around. “It’s been...fine.”

“Just fine?”

“Alright, fuck off, it’s been great,” Kris admits. “He’s great, Duper. I always kind of knew he was, as a friend, but we click. He’s fun and funny and sweet and we’re sexually compatible and - yeah, all that shit.”

Duper makes a noise at ‘sexually compatible’. “First off, I can advise you on your love life without talking about _sexual compatibility_ so let’s do that,” he says. “Let me make it clear I don’t have any problem picturing Dumo in that way. He’s a good looking guy, if I wasn’t married...but you? I don’t wanna fucking think for a second about you like that.”

“Always a vote of confidence, Duper.”

“Always. So? It’s not that fucking hard. He’s great, so you ask him about dating. And if he says yes, you thank your lucky fucking stars that a guy like _him_ would be into a guy like _you_. Simple shit.”

“It’s not that simple,” Kris says, looking upward. This close to the city, there’s no stars, just the murky darkness. “Because you’re right. A guy like me shouldn’t be into a guy like him, because a guy like me is gonna _ruin_ it.”

“Oh my god,” Pascal groans. “That’s not what I - Tanger, Kris, for fuck’s sake. I rip on you all the time about being a worthless asshole but that’s not - that’s just me chirping you. Because I love you! You deserve to be happy. And if Dumo is gonna make you happy, then you deserve him. Stop talking about ruining it. It’s not true. Do you love him? That’s why you went to Boston, isn’t it - to figure that out?”

“Maybe,” Kris says, leaving it ambiguous as to whether or not he was answering Duper’s first or second question. “I don’t know, but - maybe. Possibly.”

“You’re infuriating,” Pascal says. “Look, I’m gonna tell you a secret. Nobody is ever 100% sure whether the person they start dating is their true love soulmate. You just think, _maybe_, and you give it a shot. And sometimes it works out.”

“And sometimes it doesn’t. Love isn’t enough, I learned that already. I loved Sid, and look what happened.”

“Back then you were both the dumbest fucks on the planet. You _and_ Sid. Self-centered, emotionally stunted dumb fucks. If you and Sid started dating today, mark my words, it would be different.”

“He had plenty of chances to ask.” He doesn’t say that he himself also had plenty of chances, and sometimes he even thought about it. But their friendship is firm now, the kind of friendship that lasts through every trial up until one of them dies, and Kris couldn’t bear the thought of starting to date and fucking it up _again,_ maybe permanantly this time. “Instead, Sid started going with Geno and Anna. There’s a reason he never came back to me and asked for another shot.”

Pascal is quiet for a moment, and Kris stares at Roo and feels sorry for himself in the quiet. “Maybe the reason is that it wasn’t meant to be,” Duper says. “Maybe you were meant to be available for Dumo.”

“Oh, come on. You don’t actually believe - you said that soulmates stuff is bullshit.”

_“No,_ I said nobody knows whether someone is their true love soulmate when they first start dating. Most people don’t get love-at-first-sight. Most people have to work for it. But I’d say the universe is giving you a pretty big slap upside the head that this could work out for you, and you’re just too scared to listen.”

“Fuck’s sake, Duper. You’re the one that told me to be careful. I’m trying to be careful. I don’t want to fucking hurt him.”

“Yeah, we tend not to want to hurt the ones we love.” Kris opens his mouth to protest, but Pascal barrels on. “So what’s the plan? What’s next?”

“I’m here for another couple days, then I’m bringing him to Montreal for a week. Then...that’s it.”

“Okay, so you got about two weeks to figure yourself out. Another two weeks, I should say; haven’t you done this ‘two weeks’ shit like, three times by now? Promise me, _promise me_ that you’re gonna at least attempt to get your shit together. To try and suss out why exactly you think you’re gonna fuck it up and address it.”

Kris sighs, but it’s easier to agree than argue. “I promise,” he says. “Look, I gotta get back, I just took his dog for a walk.”

“Go, then. Go and spend time with him and think about how he makes you feel and try to realize you could have that forever.”

“Bye, Duper,” Kris says, hanging up and sighing again. He fucking hates analyzing his feelings; it’s just easier to...not. “Alright girl, let’s go,” he says, and Roo follows along happily.

Brian is still passed out when he comes in, fully sprawled on the bed, so Kris presses up against his back and jiggles the plug. _That_ wakes him up with a sharp inhale and a groan. “Wakey wake,” he says, kissing Brian’s jaw. “Too early for sleep.”

“Meh,” Brian says, but he flops over and smiles up at Kris. It’s a fond, drowsy smile, and it does something dangerous to his heart. He doesn’t usually let hookups sleep over, and on the rare occasions he does, they certainly don’t smile at Kris like _this_. Kris smiles back at him as he wiggles his hips, and his eyes suddenly go wide. “Ah - god, how big is this plug?”

“Does it hurt?”

“No, it - “ He rolls his hips again, groaning. “When I move a certain way, it hits right on my prostate. It feels _huge.”_

“It’s stainless steel, so it’s heavy,” Kris says. It wasn’t the biggest of the options, circumference-wise, but it had a nice curve and the weight of it was appealing. “I just thought it was perfect for you. I think you should keep it in for awhile.”

“What do you think about having a snack and watching a movie? I can keep the plug in the whole time. And...the collar?” He sounds hopeful.

“And the collar,” Kris confirms. “And the cock cage?”

“Oh, shit,” Brian blurts, and they both laugh. “Um...I mean, maybe. We should talk about that.”

Kris holds out a hand for Brian. “Why don’t you get up, and we go take a look at the cage and we can talk.”

“Fair deal,” Brian says, taking Kris’ arm and hauling himself up. “Actually, hold that thought. I should probably take Roo out first.”

“I already did. While you were asleep.”

“Really?” Brian runs a hand through his hair. He’s smiling, but the surprise is plain on his expression. “I - wow, okay. Thanks. You’re the best.”

“I know,” Kris smirks, as Brian laughs.

Brian makes some popcorn as Kris digs into the box. There are three cages, sized differently and made of different materials, and Kris takes the time to read instructions on the fitting as Brian putters around the kitchen. He’s not usually a big popcorn guy, but it smells amazing when Brian brings it out. “The secret is, you pop it on the stove,” he says. “And you use a high quality kernel. None of that microwave bag shit.”

Kris passes over the cages while he takes a handful, pops it into his mouth. It doesn’t have that vague fake taste that microwave bags always do. “Not bad,” he says. “And you cooked it while naked, too. Brave.”

“Stupid, maybe.” Brian smiles as he peeks at the instructions, which are surprisingly thorough and require multiple measurements. “So,” he says, touching each cage in turn - one metal, one plastic, one a softer silicone. “Chastity, huh. You’re into chastity?”

“You’re not?”

“I never thought about it before, to be honest,” he says. “I mean, I like orgasms.”

“And I like giving you orgasms. But.” Kris scoots a little closer, pressing up against Brian’s naked body, enjoys the way he practically melts at the touch, leaning into Kris. “I like the thought of having that control. I think about dinner tomorrow. You’re in clothes that I picked out, _everything_, your suit, your underwear - if I allow underwear that is.” Brian hitches a breath at that last bit. “Then you have a plug and a cage. Maybe I just fucked you, and you’re full of my come and you’re _frustrated_ because you didn’t get off, but you don’t show it, you have to be nice to the server. My personal slut and nobody knows except me, because you look so nice, so put together. But I know I just ruined you.”

“Fuck,” Brian breathes, the curse barely audible. He’s not hard again, not this soon after coming, but he’s definitely not fully soft either.

“That sounds nice?” Kris trails his hand down Brian’s arm, finds him goosebumped. “I know you can’t wear your collar out. Too obvious. But I think I saw ankle cuffs in there. You could wear those, nobody would know but me.” He leans closer, right up against Brian’s ear. “Mine.”

Brian exhales shakily, turns his head to face Kris. He’s so close now that Kris can practically feel his mouth move when he speaks. “So uh, let’s try this cage on,” he says.

It’s a challenge. Brian has to be totally soft to measure everything, but every time Kris touches him, he gets a little chub. Freezing water makes him shrink up, and that’s no better. Finally, they settle on cold - not freezing - water, while Kris babbles about the most mundane and non-sexy thing he can think of (how to find a good contractor to install a new air conditioning unit in his house). It does the trick, and it turns out that the soft silicone is the best fit. It doesn’t have the weight of the steel cage, or the eye-catching color of the black plastic cage, but it’s way more comfortable for Brian. They maneuver it on him with no pain or chafing. “It’s weird!” he declares when it’s on. “Feels weird.”

“But no pain?”

“No, doesn’t hurt or anything. Just...I can’t forget it’s there.”

“I think that’s the point,” Kris says. “And now - “ He holds up the keys; there’s a little plastic lock that prevents the cage from swinging open, and he secures it and clicks the lock shut. It makes a very satisfying noise, but even more satisfying is the idea that he owns and controls Brian’s dick and orgasms right now. Brian has always willingly given that over to him, but now it’s on more than just Kris’ word. He has a fucking _key_ that proves it. “How’s that?”

“It definitely makes me feel pretty submissive,” he says, touching it, playing with the lock for a moment before he looks back at Kris with a small smile. “Yours?”

“Mine,” Kris confirms, pulling him in for a kiss which turns long and slow. About a minute in, there’s a strange crunching sound, and Brian’s eyes fly open.

“Roo!” he yelps, and Kris turns to see her head buried in the popcorn bowl, happily chewing away at the rest. He chases her off and stares dolefully at the ruined kernels.

Kris can’t hold back the laughter. “She’s bad,” he says. “It’s fine. Not that hungry. You want that movie now?”

“Sure, but uh...do you mind if I, like, for a little while at least. I can be at your feet? With, uh, the leash?”

Kris is certainly not going to say no to that. He sits on the couch, and Brian settles between his legs on a couch cushion so Kris can snap the leash on. “Good boy,” he tells Brian with a scritch on his scalp, and that’s how they watch the movie: Brian sitting between his legs, leashed up, with a plug and a cock cage on, Kris idly running his fingers through Brian’s hair.

He barely pays attention to it, turning Duper’s words over in his mind. _You could have this forever_ \- but does he want it forever? Is this stuff going to get boring? He keeps waiting for it to get dull, like everything - every_one_ else - but it hasn’t happened yet. Still, that doesn’t mean it won’t happen.

_Figure your shit out,_ he also said, so as the credits start rolling, he tugs a little on Brian’s hair. “I was thinking,” he says. “I have a hotel room, but - you know, if we’re having late nights like tonight, and then tomorrow is hockey and dinner, and I figure maybe the next day is something else - I could just, if you don’t mind, could just sleep here.”

“Of course,” Brian says, twisting around to look at Kris. He frowns, bites his lip. “Um, I have...a guest bedroom? If you wanted. Like, you don’t have to - but just, if I move a lot at night, or something. Um.”

“You don’t move too much,” Kris says. “Well, do you want me to take the guest bedroom?”

“Do you want to?”

They both stare at each other for a moment, waiting for the other to give a confirmation. _Figure your shit out,_ okay, okay. “I can stay with you,” Kris says. “If that’s alright.”

“It’s - oh god, yeah, it’s - that’s fine.”

Every time Kris is so sure that Brian would say yes to a relationship, there’s moments like these. If Brian wanted it, why would he ever have brought up the guest bedroom? Maybe Kris is not the only one to have doubts. But he did ultimately agree, so Kris will take it. “Okay,” he says. “That hockey thing is a bit early, eh? And I have to go pick up the gear. Probably time for bed then.”

“Probably,” Brian agrees. He hesitates over the collar, but finally takes it off, setting it aside. Kris helps him remove both the plug and the cage, and Brian’s eyes go wide when he sees the size of the plug. “That was in me?”

“What can I say, I fucked you wide open,” Kris grins. “You ready to wear it through dinner tomorrow?”

“Oh, hell yeah.”

They eventually settle in the same bed, but opposite sides, and Kris usually likes sleeping alone but right now it doesn’t feel quite right. “Um,” he says in the dark, after a couple minutes of trying not to fidget. “If you need more aftercare, you can come over.”

It’s a long shot; it’s been hours since they fucked, although wearing the cage and plug was really a scene in itself. It works, though, because Brian scoots over, takes his typical place in Kris’ arms. “If you’re sure,” he says, snuggling close.

“I’m sure,” Kris says, gently kissing Brian’s temple. He makes a small, pleased noise at that, and in a flash - just like always - he’s asleep.

Kris listens to his quiet, even breathing in the dark for a long, long time before he can finally shut his thoughts off and go to sleep himself.


	41. Chapter 41

The morning is so damn domestic it almost makes Brian sad with the knowledge that it’s temporary. Instead, he (mentally) slaps himself upside the head and resolves to enjoy it while he can. Kris is already up when he rolls out of bed; Brian finds him on the balcony, watching the sun come up, a cup of coffee in hand and Roo at his feet. They sit there together for a few minutes, chatting, and then Brian makes them breakfast. This time, Kris volunteers to help, and it’s...nice, the way they easily move together in the kitchen, in each other’s orbits but not in the way.

They talk and laugh while they eat breakfast together. Kris takes a shower, pads around buck naked, and it’s not like Brian hasn’t seen that a million times before, but this time Kris grabs him and playfully shoves him against the wall, nipping his jaw while Brian squirms and giggles. They brush their teeth together.

Kris has to go pick up the hockey gear from the Warrior rep, so he leaves first, giving Brian a quick kiss before he goes. It’s quick, but it’s deep and possessive and it knocks Brian for a little loop as he remembers what’s coming up tonight: dinner date.

No, not fucking _date_, he reminds himself. Dinner. Just dinner. And then sex with his hookup, but that’s different from a date.

Still, it’s the kind of morning he’s dreamt about for years, and he’s still flying high when he gets into the facility that the skate is held in. Shears is there already, riding a bike to warm up, and Brian joins him on the next one.

“You’re in a good mood today,” Conor says, pedaling slowly.

“It’s a good day,” Brian says with a smile. “Isn’t every day pretty good?”

“Uh, no. But you know what’s gonna make my day better? When I deke you outta your fucking shorts. Heard we’re doing 1-on-1 drills today. I’m coming for you bud, better _believe.”_

“You wish,” Brian laughs. They talk as they pedal, and Conor is in the middle of a story about his prior evening’s shenanigans when he suddenly stops, jaw dropping open.

Brian turns to see what he’s looking at. Kris is in the doorway, still in street clothes and holding a big Warrior bag, waving at them. “Hey,” he says. “Where is these locker rooms?”

“Down the hall, take a left,” Brian says. “Number three or four.” Kris nods and disappears, and he can feel Conor staring at him as he turns back. “What?”

“What the hell is Kris Letang doing here?” Conor hisses, voice low.

“I invited him,” Brian says, like that’s all the explanation Conor is going to need.

Of course, it’s not. “You - invited - ! Why is he in Boston?! He shouldn’t be in _Boston!_ Oh my fucking god, that giant ass hickey on your neck. I figured it was from Hanny, but it fucking isn’t. Right? Am I fucking right?”

“I mean…” Brian’s blushing, and he knows his red cheeks are giving him away, but he shrugs.

“Oh my _god,”_ Conor says as he stops pedaling to cradle his face in his hands. “I can’t believe this. I cannot believe this. Wait - “ He takes his hands away, leaning close. “Are you guys...dating?”

“What? No! It’s...it’s Tanger, man. He doesn’t do that shit.”

“Yeah, I think you said that once before and I said, ‘well he also doesn’t hook up with anyone more than once’. And yet, and fucking _yet_ here he is in Boston, chasing after your dumb ass. Still fucking you. Why?”

Brian shakes his head. “He’s not here for me - he came for the Warrior event, and he’s got other stuff to do. Anyway, he knows I’m easy for it, so he asked. I said yes. It’s not more complicated than that.”

“You’re the stupidest man alive,” Conor declares. “He’s into you.”

“Keep your voice down,” Brian hisses, because Kris could return at any minute. “I assure you, he is not. If he was, why the hell wouldn’t he say anything? Huh? _I’m_ not the unobtainable one here. He is. He knows it, too. He knows I’d fucking say yes to anything he wants.”

“Does he, though? Like, does he really?” Conor is quiet for a moment, starting to pedal again, before snapping his fingers. “I know why he’s not asking.”

“Oh okay, genius. Why is that.”

“He’s afraid,” Conor declares, and Brian has to laugh, but Conor waves him away. “Think about it! If there’s even a 1% chance you’d turn him down, what would that do to his ego? The guy who can get anyone, suddenly can’t get the one guy he really wants? Oh man, it would fucking destroy him.”

“Please, that’s dumb as hell.”

“It’s not. Think about it. It just makes you uncomfortable cause you know what you gotta do.”

“I know what I gotta…? I’m sorry, are you trying to say that I need to make the first move? Because you’re fucking crazy if you think that’s gonna happen.”

Conor starts pedaling again quickly, his mouth moving just as fast. “That’s exactly what I’m saying. Otherwise what, you guys are just gonna bang for the rest of the summer and try to pretend you’re not into it? That’s fucking dumb. You should bring him to my wedding.”

Brian huffs a laugh. “You don’t bring a hookup to a wedding, Shears.”

“Exactly!” Conor looks like he wants to say something more, but Kris wanders in talking loudly with Kevin Hayes, so he just gives Brian a pointed look. “Think about it.”

“Nope,” Brian says, smiling and waving hello to Kris and Kevin, and the conversation thankfully turns elsewhere until it’s time to get on the ice.

It’s a small group with a private coach, and the coach has everyone - regardless of position - try both the forward and D spots in the drills. There’s no time to do that kind of stuff during the season, but Brian likes trying out these drills from a forward’s perspective. It gives him some useful data for defending, and if it helps him chip in an extra goal or two, all the better.

Unfortunately, he ends up facing Kris on defense for the 1-on-1 drill, whose expression is nearly gleeful. “Let’s go, Dumo,” he challenges.

Brian has never been accused of having _moves_, but if he’s gonna lose this battle to Kris anyway he might as well try something fancy. He knows he’s not gonna beat him with speed, so he skates right towards him - surprising Kris - and then tries tucking it through his legs and going around him. Improbably, it works, and then even more improbably, he slides it five-hole on the goalie. The rest of the guys, standing by the boards awaiting their turn, hoot and holler. Brian lifts his arms, pretends to celebrate, and he sort of expects Kris to look annoyed - he is _not_ a gracious loser, even in practice - but instead, he’s grinning. Almost looks proud.

Then he skates straight into Brian and hauls him down on the ice. Everyone bursts into more raucous cheers. “Penalty,” the guys scream as Kris playfully keeps him pinned.

“Think you’re gonna beat me like that, eh?” Kris says in his ear as Brian pretends to struggle. “You’re gonna get it tonight.”

“Boys, boys! You can’t do that,” the coach laughs, and Kris finally rolls off him and offers a hand up.

“Nice move,” Kris says, smiling and out of breath. “Asshole.”

Brian laughs and bumps into Kris as they skate back to the boards, and Kris bumps back with a grin before they split into their separate lines.

Conor’s eyebrows are up to his hairline. “What did I say?”

“Not another fucking word,” Brian warns, but Kris is still smiling at him from across the rink, and he can’t help but smile back. Next to him, Conor groans.

“You two are goddamn idiots, and I don’t know how, but I’m gonna make you see it,” he declares, but he does indeed drop it. Thank god - if he suggests again that _Brian_ be the one to make the first move…

If he allows himself any kind of hope that Conor is right, that Kris _is_ into him, it just makes things hurt that much worse, especially the implication that they’re both just too dumb to get together. It is far preferable, far more realistic, to believe the notion that Kris doesn’t make a move because he doesn’t want Brian. He could get anyone he wants, but he chooses Brian? _Don’t make me laugh_, he thinks. “You’re the idiot,” he shoots back weakly, and Conor gives him another eye roll.

Jerk.


	42. Chapter 42

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized I never posted pictures of two very important supporting characters!
> 
> [Pascal Dupuis](https://i.imgur.com/nB8rhzn.jpg) played for the Pens from 2007 - 2016. He had to retire due to a blood clot but remains active with the Pens org. He won two Stanley Cups with them: [here he is](https://i.imgur.com/kEEGVqN.gif) getting emotional and hugging Kris after a Cup win. (For any non-hockey fans reading - I know there's a few! - tradition states you don't shave your beard during the playoffs. So by the time guys win the Cup, their beards are crazy.)
> 
> [Conor Sheary](https://i.imgur.com/qvNwXD1.jpg) played for the Pens from 2015 - 2018 and won two Cups. He was traded in summer of 2018 to the Sabres, but came back to the Pens this year. [Here he is](https://i.imgur.com/6pPuMHP.jpg) celebrating with Brian during the Cup final (again, the crazy beards) so you can really see the height difference.
> 
> On to the fic!

If there’s one thing Kris can’t stand, it’s being embarrassed in front of his peers. He hates looking foolish, and maybe part of that is the knowledge and fear that eventually, every NHL’s players’ competency sours into being too old and slow for their chosen career. He’s 31 now, and that day looms closer and closer.

So when Brian makes a pretty move around him, he’s not surprised to feel an upswell of immediate, helpless rage. But then he turns to see Brian’s expression as he scores. He looks shocked at the turn of events, albeit pleased, and his eyes lock onto Kris’. He looks so earnestly happy, yet without any hint of smug gloating, that Kris can feel his mouth curl up in a smile right back, the anger diminishing. Suddenly, he’s skating towards Brian; all he wants to do is press him up against the glass, tip off their helmets, and kiss him senseless in front of everyone.

He’s only about a foot away from Brian when he realizes he definitely can’t do _that,_ so he thinks fast and hauls him down playfully, pretending to still be angry. “Hey!” Brian grunts in protest, but he’s giggling, and Kris laughs along as he pushes and shoves him into the ice.

The coach calls for Kris to let him go, so he finally backs off and helps him up. “Nice move, asshole,” he snarks, and Brian looks flushed and pleased, maybe a little flattered. God, Kris just wants to take him apart right here.

He’d originally intended to spend some time away from Brian - still maintaining the illusion that he has _stuff_ to do, that he’s not here entirely for Brian - but that’s changed now, at least for today. He hopes Brian has understanding neighbors, because Kris is going to have him wailing and begging all fucking day.

The rest of the session passes in a blur. It really is a good skate: it’s good to get back out and stretch his legs and play, and towards the end they have a mini-game where he’s paired up with Brian on defense, and it feels almost like coming home. They shut damn near everything down and Brian looks even more pleased about that than his individual effort earlier. “How’d you like the sesh?” he asks, out of breath, once their ice time concludes and they’re headed back towards the locker room.

“It was good,” he says. “Are you doing anything today?”

“Oh, uh...no, not really. Was thinking of maybe having lunch with Shears, but - I thought you had plans?”

“Changing them up,” Kris shrugs. “After that little showing, I think you need a good reminder of who’s in charge.” He says that last part softly, to ensure he’s not overheard, but Brian definitely hears it. Everything’s red now, even the tips of his ears. “I can do my things tomorrow.”

“Yeah, okay,” Brian says breathily. He looks like he wants to say more, but Shears waves and hollers as they get closer.

“Hey you two,” he says. He puts a weird emphasis on the _two_. “Most of us are going to lunch after, you want in?”

“That’s what we were just talking about,” Kris says, lying easily, and Brian nods. “Dumo, you want to go?” He doesn’t especially want to, but it’s going to seem weird if he insists that they have lunch together, just the two of them. Weird to Brian, and definitely weird to Shears.

“Uh - sure,” Brian agrees, and that’s how damn near the whole group ends up at some little fusion place, post-showers. There are twelve large men crushed in around a table, in an area clearly not meant for that much humanity, so everyone is clustered tight. Brian ends up right next to Kris, with Shears on his other side, and they’re so close that Kris can feel Brian’s leg pressed up against his, a warm solid weight. Every time Brian shifts, he can feel it. It’s..._distracting._

Brian doesn’t seem to have that problem, chatting away casually with Shears and everyone else at the table. He’s got an easy smile and a quick laugh for every man present - a reminder that Dumo’s sweet friendliness is not reserved for him alone, as much as he’d like to believe it. Brian is just a good man, and one who does not deserve to have his heart broken.

“So what brings you to Boston?” Conor asks, drawing Kris out of his reverie.

Kris shrugs. “A couple things,” he says. “There was that Warrior event, then my agent sets me up with some business and marketing meetings. You know, Shears, it’s hard being a superstar. You have to pick carefully about what advertising to do and where you invest. You wouldn’t know though, right?”

Conor laughs loudly. “You fuck,” he says. “You’re even more of a prick during the summer.”

“You love me.”

“Maybe somebody does,” Conor says, and Kris thinks that Shears doesn’t know how much he wants that to be true. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Brian shaking his head at Conor.

They drive separately back to Brian’s place. Kris has to make a quick detour to the Warrior HQ to drop his borrowed gear off, and as he’s turning into the parking garage he spots Brian outside, taking Roo for a walk, having arrived a little earlier. He pulls into the specially marked visitor parking and heads out, instead of up the elevator towards Brian’s place. “Hey,” he says, waving Brian down and jogging over towards him.

“Hey,” Brian calls back, smiling as Kris gets close. “Just giving her a quick walk. Didn’t wanna get interrupted. Sounds like you have, uh, plans.”

_“We_ have plans,” Kris says with a grin. “I mean, technically it’s ‘we’. You’re involved in the plans at least.”

Brian laughs as Roo tugs him into the little garden around the side of his apartment building. “Don’t be angry cause I got the moves, Tanger.”

“Hey, I expect to see that more during the season, then.” He lingers close to Brian’s side as Roo sniffs around, their fingers brushing together.

“Never seems to work in a game,” he says wistfully. “Maybe next year.”

“You have the talent. I know you do,” Kris insists. He curls the tips of his fingers as Brian’s hand grazes his again, and Brian curls his back, and then suddenly they’re holding hands: loose and tentative at first, the grip barely there, slowly firming into a real handhold. Brian keeps his gaze firmly on Roo at their feet, almost frozen. Maybe he doesn’t want this - 

Slowly, Brian lifts his gaze up to Kris’. His smile is small but genuine, and Kris thinks maybe he even feels a tiny squeeze on his hand. “Thanks,” Brian says, softly. “I appreciate it. It’s nice - like, I _know_ I have talent, I know I’m good. But it’s nice to hear it from a guy like you.”

“Ah, so that’s it, you angle for an ego-boost,” Kris says, face completely serious, and Brian shakes his head and opens his mouth to protest. Kris can see the exact moment when he realizes it was a joke.

“Shears was right,” Brian declares. Now the squeeze on his hand is firm and real. “You are more of a prick in the summer.”

Kris doesn’t follow it up with his retort to Shears - _you love me_ \- god knows he wants to, but he’s afraid of the response. “Sometimes,” he says. “Is your mutt done sniffing at every flower?”

“She’s done. Shit, that reminds me, I need to reserve a boarding for her when we go to Montreal.”

As much as he pretends, Kris doesn’t hate Roo, but he is looking forward to spending all day in bed with Brian with no dogs to walk. They let their hands drop back to their sides as they head towards the lobby, and Kris tries to ignore the familiar smile that the lobby attendant gives him. “Should I be nervous about today?” Brian asks when they’re in the elevator. He’s smiling, but Kris thinks maybe he _does_ look a touch nervous.

“Maybe nervous, but not scared. You always have your safeword, but I’ll explain more when we get inside.”

“Okay.” Brian’s hands stray up to his neck, touching his Adam’s apple. “I can wear your collar?”

Not just ‘the’ collar. _Your_ collar, he said - Kris’ collar. “Yes,” he says. “Of course you will. Get it right as we get back and put it on.”

“Okay,” Brian says with a smile, and they both fall silent until they’re back in Brian’s apartment, the lock shut behind them. Brian takes a moment to free Roo from her leash, but then he’s gone in a flash, returning with the collar already secured around his neck. He looks calmer with it on, less jittery nerves than what Kris saw from him in the elevator.

“Mon chaton,” Kris says, hauling him in for a kiss as he steps close. Brian makes a soft noise in the back of his throat as the kiss deepens, and Kris realizes that at some point, he’s started assigning a possessive to Brian’s pet name. Mon chaton - _my_ kitten. Not just ‘kitten’ anymore.

Fuck it, though. He’s been saying _mine_ in English for a month now, biting ownership marks into Brian’s skin. All part of the scene, from what Brian thinks. This shouldn’t raise any red flags, and he likes it, likes the way the possessive sounds on his lips. “Mon chaton,” he says again, right up against Brian’s mouth before they kiss again.

He’s been thinking about what he wants to do today, so after the kiss parts - reluctantly - he points to the dining room set. “Take off your clothes. Pull up one of your dining room chairs over to the couch, and sit,” Kris orders, a demand easily obeyed. By the time he finds what he’s looking for in their delivery box of kink - the black ribbon, silky and long - Brian is sitting prim and proper and very nude on the chair, which has been placed right next to the couch. He looks a little confused as to why he’s sitting there, but still smiling. “Wouldn’t you look nice in this?” Kris asks, and Brian perks up.

“Oh, yeah. Oui, Maître,” he says.

The ribbon is a whole different challenge than the ropes they typically work with. It’s wide, and must be kept flat according to the instructions, for both safety and aesthetics. Kris nudges Brian to sit flush with the chair back - no slouching over - pulls his arms down to his sides, and spreads his legs. Brian lets him do it with no complaints, going easily wherever Kris tugs. “You’ve probably figured out, I’m going to be tying you to this chair,” he says, as he starts winding the ribbon around Brian’s chest.

“It had maybe occurred to me,” Brian says with a quick smirk.

Kris clicks his tongue. “Mouthy little kitten today,” he says. “That’s good, though. You’re going to get that all out when you beg.”

“What are you going to do?”

He lets the question linger in the air, unanswered while he concentrates on the ribbon. He wants it to be functional, of course - tying Brian’s arms to his sides, tying his legs to the chair - but he also wants it to look _good_. He wants to admire the view of a pretty submissive package all wrapped up for his pleasure.

It takes far longer than rope would, but he gets there eventually. Brian is spread-eagle, each calf tied to one of the chair legs. His arms are stuck to his sides, and Kris briefly thought about attaching his torso to the chairback, but if everything goes according to plan, Brian is going to be in this chair for hours. He needs room to shift and move and stretch. The ribbon is tied off around his left thigh, where Kris has created a couple extravagant bows. “So pretty,” he says, smoothing his hand along the bows and down Brian’s inner thigh, and he can feel the flesh goosebump under his touch. “Do you feel pretty, chaton?”

“Oui, Maître,” he says softly.

“I think you asked earlier what I’m going to do to you. I’m going to answer, but before I do - “ Kris swings a leg over, perching on Brian’s lap, and interrupts his own sentence with a deep kiss, bringing his hands up to cup Brian’s cheeks while he ravishes him. Even if he weren’t practically sitting on Brian’s cock, it would be easy to know how turned on he was simply by the noises Brian makes, a desperate sort of whine rising in his throat. “There you go,” Kris says, reaching down and taking a loose hold, drawing another noise from Brian.

“You’re going to tease me, aren’t you?” he asks, worrying his teeth along his lower lip.

“Oh, all _day_, mon chaton. I’m going to edge you until you cry.” He leans forward, licks the red spot on Brian’s mouth where his teeth just were. “Then I’m going to lock you up in a cage, fuck you, plug you up, and we’re going to go to a nice long dinner. Then maybe afterward - maybe, if you’re good - you get to come. I still owe you from coming when you said you wouldn’t. Do you remember?” God, it seems like years ago. In reality, it was barely a month.

“I remember,” Brian sighs. “I promise to be good today, Maître.”

“Good boy.” Kris kisses him again, then slithers off his lap, down to his knees between Brian’s legs. For his part, Brian looks shocked, eyes going wide. “You know what I realized the other day? You practically _live_ with my dick in your mouth, but I’ve never sucked yours. Did you know that?”

“Um - yes,” Brian says, in a tone of voice that reveals he apparently thinks a _lot_ about that.

“That’s a shame,” Kris purrs. He’s close enough now to Brian’s cock to lick it, so he does; just a quick taste, a dart of his tongue out and then back in. Brian gasps like he’s been burned. “It’s a nice dick. You know, I never understood those Doms that want to humiliate their subs about having a small dick. I like that yours is big, because you’re mine, and that includes your cock. I like that when I _choose_ to allow you to fuck me, that it’s good. You think I should suck it? You want me to?”

“Maître,” Brian squeaks, and Kris knows it’s a no-win situation for him. Brian gets something he’s wanted for so long, a blowjob, but he won’t get to come from it. His whine indicates he understands that all too well. “I - but - god, okay, _please_, yes.”

Kris tuts. “Say it right.”

“Wha - oh! Oh. Oui, s’il vous plaît.”

“Good boy,” Kris praises, patting Brian’s bound thigh, stroking his thumb along the soft ribbon. It’s a nice contrast to the hard muscle underneath; this might be his favorite bondage yet, he thinks. Gently, he wraps his fingers around the base of Brian’s cock, lines it up, opens wide, and -

Stops. The head of Brian’s cock is suspended in his mouth, but Kris is opened wide enough that nothing is touching it, not his tongue or his lips. There’s only his hot breath puffing on the tip every time he exhales. Above him, Brian makes an aborted whimper, and Kris can feel his thigh muscles quivering the longer that he stays still. “Maître?” Brian says, a quiet question, but after a few moments of Kris still teasing, he finds his voice. “Maître,” he says, a clear protest. “Please. Do you want me to beg, Maître? S’il vous plaît. Um - je voudrais?”

Kris lifts his head, startled at the phrase which he did not teach Brian. It’s not grammatically correct, but Kris understands his meaning. _I want this_. “Where did you…?”

Brian looks like he wants to do anything but have a conversation right now, but he answers easily enough. “DuoLingo. It’s like, a language app.”

“I know what DuoLingo is. You’ve been learning French? On your own?”

Brian licks his lips, looks away, seemingly embarrassed. “Sure, I - it seemed like a good idea. I mean, like, there’s so many French speakers in the league, and you know my grandparents were from Quebec, so there’s like, the family thing.”

Kris did not actually know that, but he files that information away for later. Leaning up, he cups Brian’s jaw, forces his gaze back to him. “Even if it wasn’t for me, it’s still good,” Kris tells him. “I like it. What a good, sweet boy you are.”

Brian offers a quick smile. “So uh...je voudrais, then?”

“And you’ll get it,” Kris says. “But you have to promise to tell me when you’re close. You _will not_ come.”

“I prom - !” Kris doesn’t let him finish the sentence; he drops his head down, immediately taking Brian into his mouth, and the last half of the word twists into a yelp. The ribbon spanning his body creaks as he tries to jerk, but it keeps him tight and still as it’s supposed to. With a well-placed arm against his hips, he is completely immobilized, only able to take what Kris is giving him.

It is a good dick, just like he proclaimed earlier: it’s long but not too thick, easy to suck, a nice weightiness on his tongue. The _noises_ Brian makes are beautiful and obscene. Kris always hated when guys laid there silently while he was giving them a blowjob, but that’s certainly not a problem with Brian; he telegraphs in full transparency every single thing that he likes through soft noises and cries and pleas for more. Kris can tell when he’s close, too, the way he jerks, his hips making little thrusts. “Maître,” he warns. “Maître, I’m gonna - please - “

Kris pulls off with a wet pop, and the noise Brian makes is downright pathetic. “Thank you for telling me,” he says, kissing the tense muscles in his thighs. “Good boy. Bon chaton.”

“You’re just going to leave me?” Kris almost laughs at his pout. Brian is brattier today than he normally is, typically so eagerly submissive without the willful protests. He must _certainly_ be frustrated at the unfinished blowjob. This mouthiness is not something he’d want every time, but for now, it’s a nice change of pace.

“Oh, I never said that,” Kris says, licking his lips. “I’m not going to leave you. I’ll be here every second of your punishment. Wouldn’t miss it for the world, mon chaton.”

The word _punishment_ seems to startle Brian. “Huh. This is punishment, isn’t it?” he says after a moment.

“Yes, I mean - what else do you call being strapped to a chair and not allowed to come?”

“Right. It’s just, punishment always meant spanking and pain in my mind. Not something I’d ever allow or want. But this...I’m frustrated, but it’s not pain or anything. I can take it.”

Kris smooths his palm down Brian’s jaw, the fuzzy bits of beard, the rough stubble. “Why would I ever hurt my sweet kitten?” he asks, leaning down for a lingering kiss. “I would never. But you were still bad, weren’t you? So I have to do something.”

“And after this is all over...if I’m _good_ for you...you’ll forgive me?”

Kris is about to protest that he’s not _angry_, that this is all for the scene, but he stops and considers that Brian asking forgiveness is also part of the dynamic. He lets his hand drop to the collar, strokes the leather, watches his Adam’s apple bob underneath it. “Of course,” he says. “I know my kitten will be so good after this. He just needs a little correction from time to time. Some extra training. Which I am happy to provide.”

Brian tilts his head back with a smile, giving Kris easier access to pet the collar. “Yours?” he asks.

“Mine,” Kris confirms. “Now you be quiet, I’m going to play some games. If you get thirsty, tell me. Don’t drink too much, though, unless your kink is not being allowed to pee.”

Brian has an X-Box set up in his living room, so Kris plays a little of the new Assassin’s Creed game while keeping an eye on Brian out of the corner of his eye. He’s jittery with the orgasm denial, fidgeting and squirming while Kris plays. After perhaps half an hour, he finally settles down, slumping back against the chair, his cock soft and laying along his thigh again. He looks resigned to his fate now, his body accepting that he won’t get off.

Well, that won’t do. “I’m done,” Kris declares, setting the controller aside. “Let’s see what else is in this box I got delivered.”

It’s hiding in one of the corners, but there it is, a tiny little bullet vibrator. _Not just for women!_ the packaging proclaims. Kris remembers seeing it earlier, when he was pawing through the contents looking for collar options. At the time, he wasn’t sure they’d have any use for it. But right now, it’s perfect.

He rips open the packaging, checking to see if it has batteries - thank god, it does - and kneels back between Brian’s legs. Again, his eyes go wide, like he still can’t believe the sight. “Tell me if this feels good,” Kris says, clicking the vibrator onto its lowest setting and gently tucking it against the head of Brian’s cock.

Kris doesn’t really need a verbal answer; the almost-immediate chub does that, but Brian nods anyway. “Not gonna last long with that,” he mumbles. Kris trails the vibe slowly up and down the shaft as it hardens. The quivers are back in Brian’s legs, but he looks just a little less anxious about it now, and a bit more submissive and accepting than he did before. “Maître, please - please, s’il vous plaît, you gotta stop,” he says, after a long few minutes of the vibe. There’s a little wheeze on the word _stop_, like he doesn’t want to say it.

“You know what I want to do,” Kris says, pulling away the toy, licking the pale white skin along Brian’s inner thigh. The black ribbon tied there is a beautiful contrast, especially with the pretty bows. “Want to bite you. Right here, hard, make a mark, make sure everyone knows you’re my toy.” 

“Hard?”

“Hard.”

Brian hums, tries to spread his legs a little further, but of course - they’re tied to the chair, so he can’t. “Yes. Okay. Oui,” he says.

“Bon chaton,” Kris sighs, leaning in. He chooses a soft spot, right on the inner thigh. It’s maybe the palest part of his body, and the cry he makes when Kris bites is loud enough that he instantly pulls back to check whether Brian is okay. “Did I hurt you?”

Brian is breathing hard, like he’s just gone through a shift, but he shakes his head. When he opens his eyes, Kris can see the fuzziness of the drop. “Do you like it?” he asks softly. “Is it a nice mark?”

The bruise is already starting to come in. “It’s beautiful,” Kris tells him, and it draws a smile from Brian. “You’re beautiful. My beautiful boy.”

“Yours,” he says muzzily.

The pain of the bite has brought down his erection, so Kris stays on his knees, teases him with the vibe until he’s hard and the shivers are back, and then stops for a few minutes. He does it once - twice - the third time with the vibe pressed to Brian’s perineum, using his hand to stroke his dick - and still, he doesn’t let Brian come.

Now there are tears in his eyes, unshed but threatening. The calm subspace lasted all throughout two edgings; now, on the third, he’s back up and fully frustrated, the ropes being the only thing keeping him from vibrating off the chair. “Please, I can’t,” he says. “Please let me come. Maître, _please.”_

It’s been intriguing to see Brian’s blatant frustration. He’s not the kind of guy to get outwardly irritated during games; not like Kris, who has often been accused of wearing his heart and emotions on his sleeve. When Kris is frustrated, _everyone_ knows. Brian usually just shuts up and tries to work harder. So all the gusty sighs, the squirming, the pinched expressions, the muttering - it’s all new. He’s begged before, but this has a different note of true desperation.

“You beg so nice,” Kris praises, but leans in right up against Brian’s ear. “You have a safeword,” he whispers. A reminder, since he so rarely hears Brian complain that he can’t do something. A reminder, just in case.

Brian practically growls. “I - _fuck_. I’m good,” he says, through grit teeth. “But Maître, this isn’t fair.”

“Life’s not fair,” Kris retorts, leading to a quick eyeroll from Brian. “Oh, don’t make me. I was going to say, life’s not fair, but I am. You deserve this. Didn’t you agree to be good?”

“I am!” Brian protests, straightening up in the chair.

“Are you?” Kris squats down, so he’s looking Brian right in the eyes. “Tell me, chaton. Why are you here, tied to this chair?”

“Uh - I disobeyed you. I came when you told me not to. And - “ Brian licks his lips during a long silent pause, brow furrowed like he’s deep in thought. Suddenly, his expression clears, like he’s made peace with his next proclamation. “And I’m yours,” he says. “So you can do what you want with me. Anything. Because I’m yours, my body, my s - ...my cock, my ass, all of it. Yours.”

Kris is vaguely afraid of what he’s going to say to that. Something gushy perhaps, a proclamation he’s not yet ready for, so he leans in and crushes his mouth to Brian’s, the chair tipping backwards with the force of it. He kisses Brian until he’s not terrified of blurting something stupid out, but still, the first thing that comes from his mouth is a delighted, “You are the _best_ boy. Such a treat.”

Brian grins, looking like he’s been kissed stupid. “Does that mean you’re gonna let me come, then?”

Kris can’t hide his laughter. Yes, he can see the appeal in the occasional brattiness. “Tell you what,” he says, to Brian’s hopeful smile. “I’ll give you the next best thing. How about that?”

“What’s that?”

“Oh, mon chaton,” Kris says, leaning in for another quick kiss. “Just you wait.”


	43. Chapter 43

After Brian learned that edging and orgasm denial was to be his punishment, he went scouring the internet for reviews, and he was actually sort of looking forward to it after what he read. Up and down it was nothing but effusive praise, how it made them feel so submissive, how their orgasms were the best things ever.

Well, Brian will be the judge of that...if he ever actually _gets_ the damn orgasm.

And _more_ submissive? Brian feels snarky in a way that he’s never really felt with Kris as his Maître before, like all his frustration is boiling over and puffing out of his mouth in a steam of quips and pleas to get off. Sometimes he feels near crazed with it. But now, it sounds like Kris is going to offer some relief - 

Oh. Brian recognizes the smirk on Kris’ face, the smug smile which says this isn’t going to go Brian’s way at all. “Just wait,” Kris says again, setting aside the traitorous little vibrator and stripping out of his shirt. He starts on his pants as well, and Brian takes a deep breath as Kris’ body gets revealed from its clothes. Maybe Kris will fuck his mouth. At least then he could concentrate on something besides his own dick. That would be good. Yeah, that would be _good._

“Please,” he says. “You can, Maître. Please fuck my mouth.” To his surprise, the words tumble out easily. Normally he still gets a bolt of humiliation at the dirty talk, but there’s no room for any embarrassment right now, all squeezed out in favor of desperation.

Kris pauses, eyes lighting up. “Mon chaton, you thought the next best thing besides your orgasm was for me to fuck your mouth?”

“Well, no. The next best thing would be fucking my ass,” Brian says, rolling with it. “But I’m tied to a chair, so that’s not really possible right now. So in this position, I’d say that would be the next best thing.”

“Oh, my sweet boy. Tu es mon garçon si doux, mon cher.” Kris’ eyes are undeniably fond as he strokes Brian’s neck, brushing his fingers along the collar, and Brian’s desperation melts just a tiny bit as he smiles back. “Maybe I’ll take you up on that. But no, for now, you get to watch me play with this toy. I have a feeling I’ll enjoy it more than you.”

“Maître,” Brian groans, because that’s not going to help him at all, won’t keep him distracted in the slightest. He’d be lying if he said it wasn’t even a tiny bit intriguing, though. Watching Kris get himself off? God, it’s the hottest porn, and - 

Of course, he’s strapped to a fucking chair and can’t touch himself. Fuck.

Kris turns Brian’s chair for maximum viewing angle, and then throws himself naked on the couch, lounging back, splaying himself out like a porn star. He looks good, and he _knows_ it, every inch of him screaming confidence and dominance. He’s got a desperate, captive audience, and he looks like he’s going to take advantage.

From this angle, Brian can really see his thick thighs, the tattoos winding their way around his body, the curve of his cock. He’s thought it before, and he thinks it now: Kris is the hottest man in the league, and even if it’s temporary, he feels lucky as hell to be able to have this. “You got me all - all - hmm. Riled? Yes, riled up,” Kris says, struggling for a moment to remember the word as he takes his dick in his hand, lets out a showy moan. “All your begging and whining, but you can’t do anything, you’re under my control. And look at you, tied up so pretty. I did a good job.”

“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” Brian blurts out, and yep, he’s definitely pushing the limit of things he’d normally hesitate to say. He needs to be careful.

Kris’ hand stills, and he arches an eyebrow at Brian. “You’re right,” he says, grinning. “But flattery won’t get you to come any faster.”

That’s not what Brian had intended anyway, but he can pretend like it is, hanging his head and sighing. Kris laughs at him, flipping the switch on the vibe. Brian can hear its soft buzzing as Kris presses it against the underside of his cock, draws in a sharp breath. “Oh, I can see why you were squirming so much,” Kris says. “Feels good.”

Brian hums a non-committal response. He actually hated that fucking vibe; its vibrations weren’t quite strong enough to get him off, but enough to drive him crazy. By the time Kris took it away from him, he could feel the tears in the corner of his eyes, the ball of frustration in his stomach like an endless pit. He managed to be good and not snarl out every insult he knew, but it was tough.

Kris, on the other hand, looks like he’s enjoying it immensely. He closes his eyes and sighs, trailing the vibe slowly along the shaft, up along the head. Brian’s not sure how much of this is real or for show, but either way, it’s hot as hell. Even if he was allowed to, he can’t look away as Kris firmly grasps himself and starts stroking, keeping the vibe buzzing against the head.

He’s quiet while he masturbates, not like when they’re fucking, where he talks and groans and growls. Here, it looks like he’s lost in his own world, gently fucking up into his hand, the vibe merrily buzzing away the whole time. It’s like he’s totally forgotten Brian, and that - even more than his aching dick - is the thing that upsets him the most. “Maître,” he whimpers, and something about his tone of voice must be upsetting, because Kris pops open his eyes and frowns.

“Chaton? Are you - “

“Please, I - “ Brian sucks in a breath. “I know I can’t come yet, but please. Don’t _waste_ it. I want - I want...” The idea of Kris coming all over his chest, wiping it up, throwing it in the trash...it’s fucking criminal. “Please, come in my mouth.”

In one smooth motion, Kris is back on his feet, and he cups Brian’s cheek, bends to look him in the eye. “Were you always such a comewhore?” he asks. “Or just for me?”

“Just for you, Maître,” Brian says. It’s the truth.

“How can I deny my sweet boy,” Kris muses, giving him a soft kiss. “Mmm, but you’re tied up. I know - here.” He shuts off the vibe, fits it in one of Brian’s hands. “If it’s too much, you drop it, and I stop. Understand?”

“I won’t need to stop,” Brian says. “But I understand.”

“Well, I won’t be gentle with you then,” Kris says, patting his cheek. He stands up, runs his fingers through Brian’s hair, scratching his fingernails along the curls, doing it long enough that Brian relaxes for just a split second.

That’s when Kris tightens his fingers and pulls, using Brian’s hair to tug his torso down, bending him over. “Open,” Kris growls, but the command is useless; Brian already has his mouth wide as he’s yanked down, right onto Kris’ dick.

True to his word, Kris is deep from the very first thrust, and immediately Brian’s eyes water as the cock presses against his throat. The gagging noise he makes is obscene. Above him, Kris groans. “You love it,” he says. “Don’t you? Choking on my cock?”

It’s a _lot_ \- Kris has never fucked his face like this before, barely giving him any time to breathe. He can’t even struggle, still tied up in the ribbon; everything is running, his eyes, his nose, his mouth, drooling spit and snot and tears until he’s a fucking mess. Every time Kris pauses to give him some air, he can hear himself gasp wetly, huffing in as much air as he can get until his throat closes over Kris’ cock once more. “You’re better than any toy in that box,” Kris says, and then - 

Then Kris pinches his nose shut, so he truly can’t breathe, and his world narrows down to the dick in his mouth and the hand tangled just-this-side of painful in his hair. The blood is pounding loud in his ears, so he can barely hear Kris telling him how good he’s being, his favorite little toy, but he can hear enough.

His own orgasm seems very far away as he crashes _hard_ down into subspace, and suddenly all the brattiness and snark seems like it came from someone else. Why complain? His body is meant for his Master’s pleasure, not his own. He just needed a reminder of it. He - 

Oh god, he can’t breathe - 

He’s just about to drop the vibrator when Kris pulls out, and he sucks in as much air as he can, panting. Everything is buzzing, his skin pin-pricked in goosebumps; he feels fucking _alive_. He can’t see Kris through the tears, the world blurry, but Kris still has a hand on the back of his head. “Here it comes. Your treat,” he says, and the first splash of come hits his tongue. He keeps his mouth open for it, but it gets on his beard, a bit down his neck, and Kris smears the rest on his chest. “You’re going to wear that tonight,” he says. “On your chest. Right under your suit, since you’re such a comewhore.”

He nods, still unable to say anything, still desperately trying to refill his lungs as he coughs. A gentle thumb wipes away his tears, and the world gets less blurry to reveal Kris’ face, wearing a small - but concerned - smile. “Mon chaton? How do you feel? I know that wasn’t - I know we didn’t talk about that before.”

“I - I - good, I - “ He can’t seem to get his brain kicked online to describe how he feels. It was good, it was _amazing_, but suddenly he desperately wants to be in Kris’ arms and not strapped to a chair. He needs skin-to-skin contact, and can feel himself tearing up again. “Please, I - hug?”

“Hey now, hey, hey. It’s okay. You’re okay?” Kris pets his damp cheek, wiping away more of the tears. “Let me get you out of this. You - your safeword, you didn’t drop - “

“I didn’t - “ Brian coughs, his throat raw, as Kris quickly unknots the bows and starts unwinding the ribbon from his limbs. “No safeword. Just - want you.” Words are still heavy and ugly things right now. He doesn’t want to talk, sure as hell doesn’t want to use his safeword, he just wants to curl in Kris’ arms or maybe at his feet and be assured that he’s good. He wants physical contact so bad right now, it makes his earlier urge to get off seem laughable.

Kris gets him unbound from the chair, helps him to his feet, steadies him as he wobbles. “Let’s get you cleaned up,” Kris says, and Brian makes a noise, shakes his head.

_“No,”_ he says, and Kris stops dead in his tracks. “No. This - it’s good, just need - you.”

“Okay, I think I get it,” Kris says. He sets them both down on the couch, opens his arms to Brian, and allows him to curl close and drift. “My good boy,” Kris murmurs in his ear, petting down his back and his arms. “Mon cher, mon chaton, tu es mon trésor, et je t’aim - “ He cuts himself off, takes a breath. “Tu es à moi,” he finishes.

“Mmm?” Brian can barely think of English right now, much less French. Some of those words sound familiar, but damned if he can think of them.

“I said you’re mine,” he says, softly kissing Brian’s temple. “Tu es à moi, you are mine.”

There was something before that, but Brian can’t concentrate. He lets himself float a bit more, and by the time he’s back up, Kris is watching a movie. “Mmm,” he hums, stretching out, half his limbs numb from being curled up against Kris for god knows how long.

Kris pauses the movie immediately. “You’re okay? We can get you cleaned up - “

“No, no.” He chuckles when he sees Kris’ confusion. “Maître, you were right. I do love it. Choking on your cock, being your hole to fuck, your toy. But, I dunno, it was...really intense, and I just needed you afterwards, like this. But I don’t wanna wash this off. You said I was gonna wear it to dinner, so that’s what I’m gonna do. I begged for you to put this on me, you think I wanna wash it off now?”

“You worried me a little. I shouldn’t have done what I did without asking you first. That’s on me. But it’s good that you liked it.” Kris cups his jaw, right around the collar, pulling him in for a kiss and then crinkling his nose with a laugh. “Maybe you should at least clean your face before dinner.”

Brian chuckles along. “Yeah, I can do that.” He doesn’t move to get up though, not yet, nuzzling his nose against Kris’, still enjoying the closeness. “I’m sorry for being bratty earlier, Maître. I forgot that my body is yours. I was just frustrated.” If Kris fucking his mouth was the bucket of water that was dumped on the blaze of his desire, he can feel the embers start sparking back up now, ready to start burning again. It feels more manageable than it did before, though, not a raging fire any longer. “I’ll do better.”

“I sort of liked it. Your sassy mouth.” Kris’ smile is obvious even as they kiss again, mouth curled up. “Maybe not for every time. But sometimes it’s fun.”

“Just wait til you fuck me, Maître.”

“You still want…?”

“Yes,” Brian says. “Of course. I want everything we talked about, all of that. I just needed a...break, I guess, to be here in your arms.”

Kris nips at his lower lip, a gentle nick of teeth. “Go clean your face off. Clean whatever else you have to. And then put on your cage for me.”

“Oui, Maître,” Brian says, and he goes to climb off Kris’ lap but is stopped by a hand on his arm.

“Tell me who you belong to, mon chaton?”

Brian can tell his grin is silly and wide. “You, Maître. I’m yours.”

“Yes you are,” Kris says, dragging him down for one last kiss before swatting his bare ass to get moving.

Brian takes a moment in the bathroom to pause, really look at himself in the mirror. God, he is a mess. His beard is shiny with god-knows-what fluids, he’s still beet red along his cheeks, and his lips look swollen and pink. He runs a hand along his throat; it feels raw and sore from the sex and the coughing fit afterwards. It was a real shock when he enjoyed that kind of breathplay, and probably they should have talked about it earlier, but...he can still feel the vibe clenched in his hand, knows that Kris would have stopped immediately if he’d dropped it. And then, in Kris’ arms right after - Kris feels safe, and that’s all Brian’s ever wanted in a Dom.

He washes off his face, goes to the bathroom, gets himself ready, and then it’s the moment of truth with the cage in his hand. It feels cold and a bit unnatural as he maneuvers himself into the device. He’s still not sure he likes it, but if Kris does, it’s certainly not a hardship. At least this way, Kris can’t tease him quite so badly.

“Maître,” he says with a flourish as he heads back out to the living room, gesturing to the cage. Kris - who is fully dressed again - is very obviously into it, and that makes him feel better about the whole thing already.

“One last thing,” Kris says, waving him over. Brian doesn’t notice the small key until Kris has it in the lock, where it makes a very audible _snick,_ and - 

He’s locked in. Kris has the key, and he’s totally under his Dom’s control here, and now it’s really official that his body is _only_ for Kris’ pleasure, and...oh. Okay. Now maybe he gets the appeal. “Thank you, Maître,” he finds himself saying.

“You look incredible,” Kris gushes, tugging Brian down on his lap and kissing along the collar, right above it along his neck. Brian laughs, slightly ticklish, but then Kris’ teeth close in a sharp nip on the skin and his laugh turns into a moan. “How does it feel, wearing my collar and my cage?”

“Amazing,” he says.

“Good boy. You sit here and we’ll finish this movie,” Kris says. He keeps Brian close, legs thrown over his lap, and they sit cuddled close for about half an hour before Kris starts getting idly handsy. Brian’s concentration on the movie is shot as Kris spends five minutes stroking his inner thigh, then moves up to his stomach and side for another few minutes before settling on stroking his nipples. The whole time, Kris keeps his attention on the movie, like Brian is just something to occupy his bored hands, seemingly oblivious to how much it’s driving him crazy.

If anything, it’s somehow almost worse than the teasing on his cock. He can’t get hard, but not for lack of trying; it’s not painful, but it’s a weird pressure as the cage keeps him soft. He doesn’t know how these touches can be just as erotic as anything on his dick, but somehow they are, and he has to close his eyes and breathe and try not to interrupt Kris with his noises.

“Turn over,” Kris tells him after a long few minutes of playing with his nipples. “Ass up, lay across my lap.” Hell, even his tone of voice is distracted, like he doesn’t want to stop paying attention to the movie.

Brian bites back a groan and does as he’s asked, keeping his face buried in the soft cushion of the couch. He can hear the click of the lube cap, and he does gasp out loud as the cold liquid is drizzled against his hole. Shit, by the time they’re done here Brian’s couch might be fucking ruined, and he cannot bring himself to care one bit.

“Shh,” Kris gently reprimands. “I’m watching a movie.”

“Uh, désolé - “

_“Shh.”_

That shuts him up, and Kris lets him sit there without being touched. Just as he starts getting antsy, there’s fingers nudging against his entrance, massaging and playing and twisting. He has to bring his forearm up and under him, so he can bite it to not make a noise.

Throughout the whole thing, Kris laughs at the movie, makes small comments to himself, generally seems to be enjoying the film while seemingly oblivious to Brian’s desperation underneath him as he fingers him open. At one point, Brian’s hips start slowly humping along Kris’ lap, trying for some friction, _any_ friction, but Kris swats him again. “Stop,” he commands firmly, so Brian does, with some difficulty.

When Kris gets to his prostate, pushing and prodding, he can’t help his noises, coming deep from the back of his throat so he can’t even stifle them. Suddenly, Kris’ hand wedges under his face, curling around his mouth as a gag. “Control yourself,” he says. “You think this is for your benefit? To give you pleasure? I just wanted something to do with my hands, is all.”

By this point, he gets it; he doesn’t try and answer, or whine, he just nods and shuts up. Kris pats his cheek but keeps his hand there, anchored against his mouth while he starts finger-fucking Brian’s ass again. By the time the credits start rolling, Kris is three fingers deep and Brian is so incoherent he doesn’t even remember what movie they were watching.

“Alright, alright,” Kris says, patting his cheek one more time and then withdrawing everything - the fingers from inside him, the hand from his mouth. There’s the sound of a zipper, and Brian is roughly manhandled back onto Kris’ lap; he’s utterly pliant, letting Kris move him as he wishes. “I know what will calm you down. Didn’t get enough dick yet today, did you?”

“M - “ He only gets the ‘m’ in _Maître_ out before he realizes this too may be a test, and clamps his mouth shut, determined not to make a noise. But when Kris lifts him up and slides him down on his cock - fuck, he feels so wet, so open, having been fingered for what seems like an hour - he loses it with a strangled whimper.

“You can talk now,” Kris says, nipping his back. “Now that the movie is over. We have to get ready for dinner soon, and I know you need a good fucking if you’re going to be my best boy during dinner. Don’t you?”

“Please - yes, _yes_ Maître, please, s’il vous plaît.” He flexes his fingers just to have some kind of sensation that isn’t frustration over not being able to come or even get hard. Just like Kris using his mouth provided a much-needed distraction, he just wants to be bent over and fucked until he can’t see straight. God, he needs it.

“Well then, move,” Kris says, apparently content to let Brian do the work.

The noise Brian makes isn’t very good, he knows, an outraged squeak, but he does as he’s asked, legs shaking as he rides Kris. But it’s not _enough_. “Maître, please, I need it, I need you, I can’t - just, please - put me on my knees and fuck me until I can’t remember my fucking name, okay?”

“Wow,” Kris says, chuckling against his ear. His world tilts as Kris lifts him off his cock and shoves him face-first into the couch, ass in the air, and he doesn’t try to hold back his cry as Kris thrusts in again, deep and hard. “Demanding little slut when you’re in denial, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Brian wails, and he’s not sure if he’s exalting that he’s getting what he wants or answering the question. He’s vaguely aware of absolute filth dropping out of his mouth, no shame at all, begging for Kris to go harder, pleading for him to use his ass, that he’s a slut that needs to be bred. He has another vague thought that he’s never going to be able to look his neighbors in the face after this.

He lets out one last cry of frustration as Kris buries himself deep and comes, fucking through his orgasm in quick hard snaps of his hips. Every fiber of his being screams with arousal, but his cock hangs soft and useless and locked between his legs. His body is truly for Kris’ pleasure only right now, and it’s agonizing and incredibly satisfying all in one strange package.

“Stay just like this,” Kris commands while he pulls out, so Brian does, face still pressed into the couch. A moment later, the emptiness is replaced by a plug, not as thick as the one he previously wore, but heavier. He clenches experimentally around it just as it springs to life, bumpy vibrations causing him to jolt and gasp. “That’s the one,” Kris says smugly as the vibe turns off. Brian turns his head to see Kris with a remote and a huge smile. “Might have some fun at dinner, chaton.”

“Maître,” he says, suddenly exhausted. Kris clicks his tongue and ducks into the kitchen, returns with a diet Red Bull.

“Drink,” he says. “We have a long night ahead of us, don’t want you crashing now.” He watches as Brian pulls himself to sitting, chugs the drink, and nods in satisfaction. “Bon. Now, mon chaton, are you ready? I’m going to dress my sweet boy. You’re going to look so fucking _good_ tonight by my side. Everyone will be so jealous of me, and nobody will suspect you’re full of my come. Oh, and covered in it, too.” Kris thumbs at the dried come on his chest, then back up to cup his cheek, smiling fondly.

“I think I need to wash up again.”

“You go wash up, I’ll pick out your clothes. Come on, don’t look so tired. I know you still have more to give me tonight.”

That perks him up a bit, and he accepts Kris’ hand, standing slowly from the couch. Fuck, he can feel everything - his throat, his ass, Kris has rode him hard and hasn’t even put him away wet, not yet. There’s still more to come including, god fucking hopes, his orgasm. Kris gives him one last kiss and threads their fingers together, gently tugging him towards the bedroom. Kris murmurs something in French, and Brian understands one word: _incroyable_. Incredible. “Maître? You said - ?”

“Hmm? Oh.” Kris grins at him. “Tu vas avoir l'air incroyable. You’re going to look amazing.”

“Oh, thank you. Merci. Uh, I thought it meant ‘incredible’.”

“Is that what DuoLingo told you?” Kris squeezes his hand. “It can mean incredible. Incredible, amazing, unbelievable. All those things for you.”

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t flattered. “Can you tell me what you said earlier?”

“When?”

“I think there was some right as you were tying me up, and then after you came the first time.” He really needs to keep up with his language study. Listening to Kris compliment him in French might be the sexiest thing he’s ever heard.

Kris shrugs. “Sorry, I don’t remember,” he says apologetically. “But if you like it, I’ll keep dirty talking you in French the rest of the night.”

“That would be _incroyable,_ Maître.”

“Points for trying,” Kris laughs, then reaches around to jiggle the plug. “Now hurry up and wash. You take too long and I’ll start this buzzing, you hear?”

“Oui, Maître,” he says, hurrying to the bathroom. Just as he gets to the doorway, the vibe springs to life, causing his gait to falter; he has to hold onto the doorway for a moment, helpless in the sensation. Just as quick, the vibe shuts off, and he staggers into the bathroom, Kris laughing behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me : How the hell did I get this to 100k and I'm only like...60% of the way through the fic? This was supposed to be 100k _total_
> 
> Also me : 6 chapters and ~20k words for a 24 hour span in the story, yep that's what we're gonna do
> 
> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


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